


Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of

by ninathena



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Denial of Feelings, Drug-Induced Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Season/Series 01, Secret Relationship, Spooning, first time blow job
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:13:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4533861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninathena/pseuds/ninathena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the help of the jobi nuts, Bellamy and Clarke act on their latent, mutual attraction for one another, adding a whole new layer to their relationship during season 1.</p><p>Basically a rewrite of season 1 if Bellamy and Clarke had, had sex during 1x08. You're welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea wouldn't leave me alone as I tried to watch this episode. So I was just like, fine I'll write it, but it's only going to be a one-shot since I have other stories I need to work on. But did my muse listen? No, of course not, so there's probably going to be more where this came from.
> 
> So, yeah, takes place during 1x08, and Clarke and Bellamy deal with their demons a little bit differently than in the episode, basically by having sex while high on Jobi nuts, because my muse was in the mood, apparently.
> 
> Any dialogue from the show does not belong to me. Title is from Wuthering Heights, because that book rocks. Sorry for any mistakes. And thank you for reading!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Keep practicing. I need some air.”

Clarke watches as he walks away, striding past the target that they’d hung above the door. She feels strange, light… unreal, and she tries to blink away the sudden bout of… whatever the hell it is.

She hears a crash coming from the hall up ahead, from the direction Bellamy went.

_Bellamy_.

He’s leavingher, after everything that’s happened since they got down here, the strange sort of partnership they were able to find together after Charlotte – which was quickly blown to hell by him destroying the radio, she reminds herself.

But still… as much as she disliked him- _dislikes_ him, it’s been nice knowing that she’s not alone, knowing that there’s someone else she can look to, someone else to help shoulder the burden of leadership. He’s helped her, helped _all_ of them survive this dangerous world, and if he leaves now, alone… he’ll _die_ out there.

Her stomach twists as she feels a bead of sweat slide down the back of her neck. She wipes the back of her hand across her forehead, feeling the slickness of sweat there as well.

She doesn’t want him to die, and her heart begins to hammer in her chest as she remembers him walking away only moments before.

He’s _leaving_ her, she thinks again, with sudden panic. He’s leaving her alone so he can die, and she can’t let him. She shuffles quickly past the target as it shifts from teal to purple. Her left arm feels heavy until she hears a clattering noise in the distance, and then it’s light.

She hurries faster down the dark, twisting hall, turning this way and that, trying to find him before he leaves and vanishes forever. She calls out his name but can’t seem to hear anything except her _own_ name being called back. She’s not looking for _Clarke_ , she thinks angrily, she’s looking for _Bellamy_.

She’s suddenly being turned around, a vice like grip on her right arm. She frowns as she looks down at the hand that’s holding her, her eyes traveling up the arm it’s connected to until she sees the face- _his_ face.

“Bellamy,” she sighs, in relief before smiling widely.

He looks worried as he swallows, and she watches, mesmerized, as his adam’s apple bobs in his throat.

“It was Jaha,” he says, roughly, holding tightly onto her arm. “He’s here.”

She shakes her head, clutching the material of his jacket. “ _You’re_ here. You didn’t leave.”

He releases her arm and steps away, and she misses the warmth of his hand seeping through her layers. “He’s coming for me,” he says, as he begins to turn away.

Her hand slips from his jacket and she lets out a whimper at the complete loss of contact, worried that if she can’t feel him, he’ll disappear. Like her dad… like Wells.

“It’s coming for me,” he mumbles, as he looks around at their surroundings. “The people I’ve hurt – the things I’ve done.”

She rushes to him, turning him around to face her as she clutches hard at the fabric of his jacket once again. She pushes herself close as she raises herself on her toes, trying to make him look her in the eye. It works, but his gaze is heavy and sad and she wants nothing more than to take it away, because Bellamy is _never_ sad, Bellamy is resilient and defiant, and the sudden change in him frightens her.

“Please don’t run away,” she pleads. “Please don’t leave me alone too. I can’t do it alone.”

He says nothing, only staring at her with his solemn eyes that feel softer than any hug.

“You’re Bellamy, you’re strong. Be strong.” She sniffs as her eyes burn with tears. “And I will too,” she finally says, thinking about her mother and how much she misses her and hates her all at once, but if Bellamy can face his demons then so can she.

She feels a light pressure on her elbows and a familiar warmth seeps through her layers of clothes there. His hands, she thinks, sighing with happiness. His hands are so warm and she wishes desperately that they could be everywhere, warming her from the outside in.

“Clarke,” he mutters, as he grips her elbows tighter, pulling her in closer.

Her breasts are smashed against his chest, and when she breathes she can feel the softness of her moving against the hardness of him and it amazes her, the differences in their bodies. She suddenly wants to see it, wants to examine his hard ridges against her soft slopes as they press against each other.

One of his hands come up to her head, cradling it as he rubs his thumb across the apple of her cheek. Her eyes open wide at the skin-to-skin contact, her skin tingling with every brush of his thumb, and it’s like she can feel it throughout her whole body.

She can feel his heart beat against her own and the world seems to open up because she realizes what they are – two halves of a whole. He _is_ her other half. She smiles softly as a lone tear makes its way down her face, stopping against his thumb. He stares at it curiously – the wetness on the pad of his finger, before taking it slowly into his mouth.

Her eyes dart between his dark eyes and his lips that are wrapped around his thumb, and a pulsing starts between her legs. It’s uncomfortable, the neediness it makes her feel, and she moans as she squirms to try and relieve the pressure.

Bellamy swallows hard as he traces his wet thumb across her lips and she opens them without thinking, sucking lightly on the tip. The only thing she has time to think about is how salty he tastes, before his finger is suddenly gone and his lips are there instead.

He slides one hand on her hip and the other on her lower back, and it’s like she can feel every point at which they’re connected, fused together with a thrumming passion that is now their real world. His lips trap her top one, sucking on it gently. She inhales deeply and his scent invades her nostrils and he’s surrounding her, encompassing her whole being.

She feels dizzy and weightless as they seem to sway with the movement of the room, then her back hits a solid surface and as much as she misses the buoyant feeling, she also likes this feeling of being grounded with him – rooted to him.

Bellamy pushes hard against her, trapping her between his body and the wall and she’s blending into him, against him, smoothing herself along the length of him. His hand on her back slips beneath her shirt and she’s reminded of how _warm_ he is, and she so badly wants to _feel_ him.

She breaks away from his kiss, but he only moves his head lower, reattaching his lips to her jaw and her neck, and it’s so right and overwhelming. Their skin should never part again.

Clarke wiggles out of her jacket before trying to pull off his, but she can only pull it down to his elbows since his arms are bent, his hands too busy gliding over her body. She growls with frustration as she tries to pull it off again, and he accommodates, dropping his arms and quickly ripping the jacket from them, followed by his shirt.

She stares at his wide chest and hard stomach.

Neither of them are moving and she’s breathing hard, like she did when she use to stare out the window of the Ark, looking at the blue orb that was Earth, in wonderment. But now there’s no window to fog up, and the Earth has become Bellamy, and Bellamy has become the Earth. They were once both unreachable, but now they’re both here for her to touch. She remembers all the dark glances he’s given her, remembers when he beat Murphy, and when he did what she couldn’t, torturing that grounder – they’re both dangerous too. Her eyes roam across his tousled hair, his full lips, and the long expanse of his muscled torso – dangerous and beautiful.

He releases a quick breath and steps up to her, pulling gently at the hem of her shirt. “Can I look at you, now?”

She runs her middle finger lightly down his chest, unable to keep from touching him any longer. “You _are_ looking at me,” she whispers. “You’re the only one who sees me, sees what I carry.” She shakes her head slowly. “It’s so heavy,” she murmurs.

He stops playing with her shirt, resting his hands on her hips, instead. She leans forward, placing her lips against his bronze shoulder, brushing them leisurely from side to side, relishing in the feeling of his smooth skin against her lips. His hands clench around her as he pulls her against him. She feels him then, hard and wanting and throbbing in time with her – in synch. They are _one_.

A breath rushes out of him again, washing hot across her cheek and down her neck. He dips his head low, nuzzling her ear and it makes her shiver. “I see you,” he says, quietly, voice rough and soft all the same time.

She leans back, looking him in the eye before lifting her shirt. His eyes dart to her heavy chest, full of want that makes the throbbing between her legs intensify. She releases the clasps of her bra because she wants to watch him grow hungry for her, insatiable with desire. And he does, his eyes nearly black. The heat they release fills her with a hunger of her own and she clasps her hands on his face, pulling him forward as she takes his mouth and claims it with her own.

She runs her tongue across his lips and he opens them, allowing her entrance. Her tongue brushes against his and someone moans but she can’t tell who. It doesn’t matter though, because they are so connected in this moment, sharing everything together. What one does the other feels, and she has never before been this close to anyone in her life.

Bellamy’s hand fondles her breast, the generous flesh pliant against his palm as he kneads it. She pushes her chest forward and he circles her nipple before running his thumb lightly across the tip. She breaks away from the kiss and opens her mouth wide, her breathy moan sweeping against his lip and chin.

They lean against each other breathing in and out to _gether_ as he continues to touch her.

Their lips find each other again and she quickly begins to unfasten his pants. He pushes her hard up against the wall as he begins doing the same to hers, and everything is suddenly frenzied and wild and that’s what they are together – they’re wild and powerful and relentless.

They devour one another as they clench tightly to each other. She can’t let go because she’ll drown without him and he’ll be lost without _her_. They save each other. Help each other. _Need_ each other. She needs him to breathe, and he needs her to keep him grounded.

Their skin touches, burning and shivering as hands roam, and fingers clench, and teeth bite, and tongues soothe. She’s on her back, floating in a state of absolute bliss and she swears she can feel it in him too.

She wraps her hand around him, the part of him that’s straining and pulsing, making him moan against her bare shoulder. She starts to move her hand gently up and down his hard shaft, and it makes her muscles clench just thinking of him inside her. He’s hard as steel and soft as silk and she laughs, deep and throaty, because that’s just like him, shouting and barking out orders at those ‘stupid fucking kids’ but then falling all over himself with worry when one of them gets hurt after _doing_ something stupid.

He lifts his head as he looks down at her, his serious face hovering above her amused one. He watches her – looks her right in the eye as he moves his lower half against her, rubbing against her in just the right way that makes her snap her eyes shut and open her mouth wide in a silent moan. He leans down, licking the sweat from between her breasts all the way up her neck, and then she does moan, pushing her hips up into his, grinding against him.

He kisses her and it’s slow and sensual and soft, and she doesn’t want to stop, ever. But it does as he kisses her sweetly at the corner of her mouth, followed by her dimpled chin, then under her jaw, and down her throat. He passes her breasts, sliding straight down to her belly, and she curls her fingers into his hair. She’s always wanted to feel his hair, so thick and dark, curling in an almost boyish way. But Bellamy Blake is far from boyish.

She thinks of Finn, and her stomach roils with sudden nausea, the embarrassment too much. She’s stupid. Such a stupid little girl. She actually thought it was something… she doesn’t know, just something. She was lonely and sad and he was there and he was lonely and sad and- She squeaks with surprise at the sharp feel of teeth on her inner thigh. Bellamy soothes the red mark with his tongue as their eyes meet.

“You’re thinking too much. I love that beautiful brain of yours,” he says, as he begins planting soft kisses up her other thigh, “but sometimes you need to turn it off.”

She’s about to say something, argue that her brain is never off and she likes it just fine that way, but then she feels his tongue on her, giving a long swipe up to her clit, and she can no longer think of anything much less put together words to make a coherent sentence.

She bows her back and holds tightly onto his hair as he works her with his mouth. It’s amazing, this feeling that the body is capable of, a mixture of torturous ecstasy, and she doesn’t think she can go on but she doesn’t want it to end. She hears him, _feels_ him hum with contentment against her, and the feel of him coupled with the sound of him has her belly and her chest clenching and flipping, and she’s fairly certain she’s dying and she’s so close. To what? She doesn’t know. Death, probably.

She pulls hard at his curls and she hears him grunt before the feel of his hand is on her stomach, his thumb rubbing her soothingly just below her navel. One of her hands fly to his, clutching it hard. He is just everything to her in this moment and she needs him to know it, needs him to see the depth of what this means to her, what _he_ means to her. She wants to tell him but between her heavy, breathy moans and her piercing cries, she’s unable to speak, and the frustration is so much that her eyes actually begin to burn with tears.

She puts her lips together, determined. “B- Bell- _Bellamy_.”

And she’s exploding, floating through the stars once more, only this time, instead of being stuck inside the grey, gloomy Ark, she is free and everything is beautiful and amazing, even though nothing exists except for the bright space around her. She’s lost in rapture and she loves it, letting go of everything holding her to the ground, all the pain, and the fear, and the sorrow that encompasses what the Earth has become for her.

Earth _can_ be beautiful.

Bellamy’s lips find hers and she quickly wraps her arms around him, one set of nails digging into his shoulder while the other rakes through his thick hair. Has she said how much she loves his hair?

Her breathing begins to even out but she refuses to open her eyes, wanting to enjoy the physical feeling of his heavy body pressing her down while she still drifts through space. He sprinkles kisses across her cheek and along her jaw, his lips leaving a wet trail. The sweetness of it makes her sigh in pleasure as her whole body begins to slowly descend, and she finally opens her blurry eyes and turns her head, nosing at his cheek.

He lifts his head, releasing a soft breath as he stares down at her with a look of such soft longing. Her heart is full of him and everything is so damn deep while he gazes at her with so much warmth.

He lowers further, pressing the bodies together tightly, sliding one of his hands beneath her head, the other finding purchase on her side. They are so close, noses just barely touching, eyes locked, and she’s never stared into another person’s eyes for so long. It’s beautiful and terrifying because she realizes that she’s staring into him, she’s staring into his soul and he’s staring into hers and now they are intertwined in such a metaphysical way it’s more than she can bear.

He leans his head down, eyes closing as their foreheads meet and she can hear him swallow thickly and it’s all just so much she can barely breathe with the emotions swirling around them. His hand on her side makes its way between them as he lifts his body slightly, smoothing down her belly until he grasps himself. She feels him at her entrance and she tenses up with a nervous excitement. Their eyes meet once again, his brown depths full of such a sincere, intensity that it burns through her very being, and she doesn’t think anyone will ever look at her that way again – didn’t think anyone ever _could_.

Slowly – excruciatingly slowly – he pushes within her. And he’s big, bigger than she thought, and her nose flares as her mouth opens wide. She sucks in a breath and lifts her head closer to his. She’s scared, but his steady gaze calms her while her nails take purchase wherever the hell they are, and if she were able think of anything at the moment, she’s sure she would be worried about how much she’s hurting him. But he doesn’t hiss or even blink in pain, only continues moving above her.

They breathe together, in and out and in and out, and it soothes her a bit more, as their heartbeats pound against one another. He’s still so achingly _slow_ , and it’s torturous as much as it is appreciated, and she can feel the stroke of his pulsing flesh as he gently pulls out of her, before he just as gently pushes back in. He finds an unhurried rhythm and she becomes more relaxed, the pain dissipating in the wake of her senses going into overdrive.

They’re panting, hot breaths mingling, and it’s like they’re breathing into each other, giving each other life, moving each other forward, driving each other on.

She lifts her legs, locking her ankles at the small of his back as she begins to move _with_ him, work with him to reach the peak that they’re striving towards. She can feel his muscles of his back and his ass as they bunch and strain, gliding beneath his skin as he pushes in and out. She longs for a mirror, wants to watch them as they do this together, blend in to one another.

A bead of sweat drops from Bellamy’s face and onto her lip and she licks it away quickly. It’s so intimate, so close, but she needs to be closer, needs _more_ , but she doesn’t know how to ask for it, doesn’t know what to ask _for_. She lifts her head, closing the short gap between their lips, giving him a quick peck, followed by another. He chases her lips down till her head rests atop his palm once more, and he kisses her deeply, never stopping in his deep, gentle thrusting.

Finally, when he breaks away, he pulls his hand out from beneath her head, using it to prop himself up instead. He looks down at her ravenously, sending a pleasurably painful bolt of lust shooting down to where they’re connected, where he moves within her. She doesn’t have time to even think before his hips begin to snap into hers, his careful thrusting abruptly changing into something untamed as he pounds into her. She cries out at the sudden change, but she finds that it’s exactly what she wanted.

She anchors her hands to his sides, everything becoming hurried and frantic, their bodies moving at a feverish pace while their breathing and moaning seems to take over, invading her brain. She looks down between their undulating bodies and sees him as he disappears inside of her, penetrating her over and over. She snaps her eyes shut as she drops her head back down again, the sight too stimulating for her to take anymore.

She knows he’s close now, his thrusting becoming erratic and his cries becoming loud. She kneads her breast, then begins pulling and pinching at her nipple until sharp flashes of heat shoot through her core.

Everything is tight and she feels as if they’re about to jump from the precipice of their lust and desire, and into an abyss of something else altogether. She slides her hand down fast, circling around her sensitive clit and crying out as her body bounces beneath Bellamy’s.

He falls on his forearm and dips his head between her neck and her shoulder, muffling his cries, and she quickly takes hold of the back of his head, holding him tightly with one hand while continuing to pleasure herself with the other.

Then it’s here and it’s blazing white hot through her brain, blocking out everything around her for a short time. It’s not as momentous as the one before it, so she’s able to come down fast, enjoying the sound of Bellamy finding his own release. She feels him swell within her, and she clenches around him, making him groan before crying out in ecstasy as he spills his seed inside of her. He doesn’t stop moving though, his hard, jerky thrusts slowing before finally stilling.

He falls on top of her, his full weight holding her down as he breathes harshly into her ear. She closes her eyes at all the overwhelming sensations, enjoying the blissed-out state that they’re in together. She unlocks her ankles, caressing her foot up and down his calf as she cards a hand through his hair, rubbing her face against his temple.

He grunts. “I’m crushing you.”

She smiles, chuckling lightly. “You’re okay for now.”

He stays like that for another minute, before inhaling deeply and lifting himself on his forearms. She smiles up at him timidly, unsure of what else to do. She doesn’t know what the hell just happened between them, sleeping with Bellamy isn’t something she ever would have chosen to do before. Something else was at work here, pushing them to seek each other out in this way, but even so, she has to admit that it doesn’t feel like it was a mistake, doesn’t feel like she would regret the amazing experience they just shared. It doesn’t feel like _Finn._ And even with what little experience she has with sex, she’s certain that it isn’t usually so… powerful.

She’s suddenly nervous as she looks up at him, worried that he might not feel the same. Her face falls and her heart sinks when she sees that he’s not smiling back, only looking down at her with an apprehensive expression. She gives him another quick smile, trying to hide the hurt that has her eyes burning and her chest squeezing painfully, but a tear falls anyway, escaping as it slides down her temple.

“Clarke.”

She shakes her head. “It’s okay. I don’t know.” She sniffs and she’s suddenly aware that they’re still naked as he lies on top of her, between her legs and inside her still throbbing core. “I don’t know what happened,” she says as she squirms beneath him.

He looks away, licking his lips as he gets up to kneel in front of her. She hisses at his withdraw, closing her legs quickly, her face burning with embarrassment when she feels their combined fluids leaking from her.

She looks around the dark space for her clothes and begins to dress quickly, peeking behind her to see him fastening his pants. Their eyes catch and she turns away, pulling her shirt over her head.

“Are you still leaving?” she asks, hesitantly. She desperately wants to know the answer, but at the same time she’s terrified to find out. Everything feels so different than before, she doesn’t want to lose him, and she’s not even sure why anymore. Things are so suddenly so confusing.

He’s quiet and she thinks that maybe he didn’t hear, but when she turns back to him he’s watching her, looking at her with eyes that beg – for what, she doesn’t know.

“Is that what you want?”

She frowns. How could he think that, after she spent this whole trip trying to convince him to make peace with Jaha? But then her breath catches in her lungs when she realizes he’s not talking about _Jaha_ , he’s talking about _her_. Doesshe want him to leave after what just happened? She begins to shake her head, about to deny such a thing, when she sees movement behind him. A person – Dax.

She wonders what the hell he’s doing here. Worry rising within her when she thinks that maybe something’s happened at camp. But before she can even open her mouth to question him, she sees his gun and her eyes go wide.

Bellamy tilts his head, giving her a curious look, and Dax raises his gun behind Bellamy’s head, but she’s already moving, throwing herself at Bellamy, both of them grunting as they hit the cement floor, hard.

A shot rings out behind them and they scramble quickly to their feet, running down the hall. Another shot’s fired, hitting a nearby wall, and they duck as Clarke yells out in shock. They turn a corner and she pulls Bellamy into another room, hoping they can lose Dax in this maze-like place.

Bellamy slows, looking behind them for any sign that Dax is following. “That kid,” he whispers, breathlessly, “I know him. What the _fuck’s_ he doing?”

She shakes her head, trying to figure out how the hell they’re going to get out of this. “I don’t know,” she says, looking down another corridor, “I don’t know, but we need to get out of here.” She sees their target, the one they’d hung earlier for practice, and she remembers her gun, remembers dropping it in her weird haze of confusion. If they can get to the guns then maybe they’ll have a fighting chance to find their way out.

She looks back and sees Bellamy checking the other doorway. “Hey,” she whispers, loudly, nodding her head towards the corridor, “this way.”

He follows her, but not before glancing back one last time. “What’s this way?”

She gives him a hard look. “Guns.”

He clenches his jaw, nodding his head.

They make their way down the hall and Clarke pulls down the target, smiling briefly as she bends down to pick up the rifle she’d dropped earlier. Bellamy begins walking around her when she hears a click coming from behind, making them both spin around.

Dax looks down at his rifle in confusion before ejecting the round, but that moment is all Bellamy needs as he runs toward the kid, slamming him up against the wall, fighting for the gun. They’re grunting and growling, each of them trying to get the upper hand. Dax, pinned against the wall, releases a hand from the gun only to quickly use it to punch Bellamy in the face, making him stumble back. Before Bellamy has time to recover, Dax smashes Bellamy in the face again, this time with the butt of the gun and Bellamy falls back onto the floor.

Clarke watches, fear and anger rising up within her in equal measure. She raises her gun to Dax’s back just as he points his down at Bellamy.

“ _Stop!_ ”

Dax freezes, slowly turning his head to glance at Clarke and her rifle. “Shumway said, ‘no witnesses.’” He turns back to Bellamy, gripping his weapon harder. “I don’t want to kill you.”

She knits her brow, her brain becoming a muddled mess. “What is he talking about?”

Bellamy sits back on his forearms, defeated look on his face. “Shumway set it up. He gave me the gun to shoot the Chancellor.” He eyes the gun pointed at him, and she can see that he’s accepting it, accepting that he’s about to die and her heart squeezes painfully within her chest because he _can’t_. She can’t lose him, and yeah, the reasons why are confusing at the moment, and things are surely only going to become more awkward from here on out, but the one thing she knows for sure is that she _needs_ him.

“Walk away now, and I won’t kill you,” Dax says, without turning around. He’s not even worried about her, doesn’t think she’ll do it, doesn’t think that she’s capable of it. But she is, she knows she is if it’s to protect someone she cares about.

“Put it down,” she orders, trying to give him one last chance.

He must hear the determination in her voice and he turns slowly, pointing his rifle at her instead. “Your choice.”

No, this is his choice, all of this is him. She has no choice, because letting Bellamy die _isn’t_ a choice. Not one that she could live with, anyway. She grits her teeth, holds the gun firmly to her shoulder, ready for the consequences of her actions, and pulls the trigger. But there’s only a click, and her stomach drops as the fear she was feeling explodes within her.

She spins on her heal and dashes inside the room, taking cover behind the wall near the doorway. The moment she gets there he fires again, and her heart pounds in her chest as she tries to think of a solution. He’s going to come in the room and he’s going to kill her. The room is a dead end and there’s nowhere left for her to run, nowhere left for her to hide.

With horror, she sees the muzzle of his rifle and she takes a steps away, looking around frantically for somewhere to hide. Then she hears Bellamy as he yells out, and she watches as both men fall to the ground, just inside the room. Bellamy lands on top of Dax, attacking him with a fervor she’s only ever seen once before when he attacked Murphy after Charlotte’s death.

She tries desperately to eject the bullet from the chamber of her rifle, but she angrily realizes she wasn’t paying near enough attention to Bellamy as he gave his shooting lesson. She hears their grunting and yelling becoming louder, and she looks up to see that Dax is now on top of Bellamy, punching him before grabbing for his rifle. She tries one last time to eject the round, but growls with frustration.

She runs towards them, because Bellamy isn’t winning this fight and he’s out of time as Dax quickly gets the upper hand, and she needs to do _something_ or he’s going to die right in front of her. “Get the hell off him!” Dax is fast, turning and slamming her hard in the stomach with the butt of his gun. She falls back, her breath leaving her lungs as fire runs through every fiber of her abdomen.

Again, the quick distraction is all Bellamy needs, and before she knows it Dax is gasping and choking on his own blood, clutching at his neck before dropping to the floor.

She tries to scoot away from him as his blood gurgles from his open mouth. She tries not to vomit as her diaphragm and intestines throb within her burning stomach.

She leans back against a wall, breathing heavily as the blood rushes through her. She feels her body come down from its adrenaline high and she feels suddenly exhausted. She thinks that she might be able to sleep for days just like this, up against a wall beside a dead body.

Bellamy squeezes her knee as he drops down beside her, both of them fighting for breath in the dimly lit room.

“You’re okay,” she says, trying to convince herself as much as him.

His face is bloody and bruised and she wants nothing more than to touch him, but she’s scared and confused. So much has happened within just a few hours, she feels like she doesn’t know up from down and left from right. And what the hell are they _doing_?

“No, I’m not. My mother…”

She looks at him in surprise. She doesn’t know anything about Bellamy and Octavia’s lives before this, how they lived on the Ark before Octavia was found out, about the woman that raised them. She knows nothing about _him_ , and she’s amazed when she realizes how much she wants to. She wants to know who he really is, because this front that he shows everyone isn’t it, and she knows it.

She blushes, thinking about his soft lips as they kissed her skin and his hard body as it moved above her, around her, making her feel safe and cared for in a way she hasn’t in _such_ a long time. That man is not the same angry asshole who stomps around camp, barking out orders, and belittling her in front of everyone.

“If she knew what I’d done. Who I am. She raised me to be better, to be good.”

Even in the dim, orange light she can see it as his eyes glisten with unshed tears, and her heart breaks at the sight, no knowing how to comfort him. “Bellamy-“

“And all I do is hurt people. I’m a monster.” He says it with such remorse and grief, and she wishes she could make it better for him, take the hurt away, but she knows that this is something he will have to deal with, the consequences of his actions won’t just disappear, even if _he_ does. And if he wants to change, become a better person, he will have to face them head on.

“Hey, you saved my life today. You may be a total ass half the time… but…” And she doesn’t know if she can say it, doesn’t know if she can put herself in such a vulnerable position again after Finn. But something happened between them today, and it was more than just not being in their right minds, because after the haze of whatever the hell it was had disappeared, she hadn’t wanted to leave his side, hadn’t thought of their moment as a mistake. And as afraid as she is of him knowing how she feels, he deserves to know, and not just about her, but all of them. She’s not the only one still alive because of him and how tirelessly he works to keep them all safe. “… I need you. We all need you.”

His look of pure shock saddens her, but it pushes her to keep going. “None of us would’ve survived this place if it wasn’t for you.”

He turns away, but she’s not sure if it’s out of embarrassment or because he just can’t accept it.

“You want forgiveness, fine, I’ll give it to you. You’re forgiven, okay?” She becomes suddenly desperate to convince him, because she knows if she can’t he’ll leave. This is the moment, the only chance she’ll get, to prove to him how much he’s needed, and how much _he_ needs to do this for himself. He doesn’t have to live a life full of regret and self-hate. He can move on, move forward, be happy. And she wants him to, wants him to become a good person and live a good life because deep down she knows there’s a man inside there that deserves it, he just needs to come out and face his monsters.

“But you can’t run, Bellamy. You have to come back with me. You have to face it.”

“Like you faced your mom?”

He side eyes her and she looks away, all of the miserable memories and the bitter emotions rushing to the forefront. He’s right, she knows he is, but facing her mother, the woman who raised her, taught her how to heal the sick, and gave her the strength to be the person she is today… helped murder her _dad_ , was something that made her sick to her stomach.

“You’re right. I don’t want to face my mom. I don’t want to face any of it.” There was so much to face, so much to deal with, so much pain, and regret, and hurt, everywhere she turned and sometimes it was all just too much. But that was precisely why she needed him. Even with all the resentment they’d felt for each other before, they’d still _had_ each other.

“All I think about every day is how we’re going to keep everyone alive.”

She looks up at him then, trying to break through to him with her desperate eyes. “But we don’t have a choice.” She thinks it’s worked as is face hardens, the lines of despair fading into a look of determination.

“Jaha will kill me when he comes down.”

He gives her a questioning look, begging her for a solution to the mess he’s made. But she doesn’t have it, not right now, but as she meets his eyes, she’s committed to finding it. She won’t let him die, won’t let Jaha kill another person she cares for. “We’ll figure something out.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “Can we figure it out later?”

Her heart soars and the sudden relief hits her like a meteor. She wants to hold him, hug him, kiss him as she giggles like those silly girls she remembers from school. But she doesn’t do any of that. Because that’s not who they are, she tells herself with a sad understanding as it dawns on her slowly. They are co-leaders, partners, _not_ lovers. They help each other, and lean on each other, they don’t make love to each other. They need one another too much to ruin what they have, because they are not the only ones involved, there are nearly a hundred other people counting on them, and they have to be ready, have to be prepared. There’s no room for distraction while they’re trying to survive.

She turns away from him, aware of the pain that still lingers in her abdomen, and leans against the wall beside him. She remembers how tired she is, how much she’d give anything to just sleep for days if she could.

“Whenever you’re ready.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late and I'm so sorry about that. My muse seems to have taken a vacation or something. Thank you for all my reviews, kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks, those are truly the only reason why I was able to overcome this strange bout of writers block and finish this darn chapter.
> 
> Sadly, there is very little relationship development for Bellarke in this chapter, but I'm planning for actual talking to happen in the next. This is mostly just Clarke kind of beginning to crack under the weight of responsibility she puts onto herself.
> 
> Apologies for any mistakes, my lovelies, and I really hope you enjoy it!

The nuts. That’s what it’d been. That’s all it’d been. She knew _something_ had been wrong, causing the strange fog in her head, making her feel free and open in a way she never had before.

When she and Bellamy return to camp, showing everyone the weapons they found, explaining how they were going to keep them all safe, Raven pulls Clarke aside, telling her about what happened while she was gone, about the crying and the maniacal laughter, the silly discussions and Monty trying to eat a pine cone.

It had all just been side effects of a drug, she thinks.

_All_ of it.

What happened in the bunker makes sense now, there’s a reason for what transpired between her and Bellamy. Relief washes over her, the pain of his rejection easing just a bit, but a small part of her, a part she absolutely refuses to acknowledge, calls bullshit, reminding her that nowhere in Raven’s story had anyone been having uninhibited, passionate sex.

She presses her lips together, pushing her hands into her jacket pockets, trying to forget all the worry and confusion she’s feeling about Bellamy, and instead looks up at Raven. She’d hoped throwing herself back into her role of leadership would help her forget about what happened in the bunker, and it does for a moment, but meeting the dark eyes of this girl she hurt reminds her that what happened between her and Bellamy is not the only emotional mess she’s made. Raven is brilliant, and confident, and brave and she deserved far better than what Clarke and Finn did to her.

“Thank you,” Clarke says, her voice trembling with all the emotions swirling within her, “thank you for taking care of them.”

Raven blinks, her full lips pursed as she raises a brow and shrugs a shoulder nonchalantly. “We all have to look out for each other down here, right?”

Clarke takes a deep breath before nodding her head, giving the other girl a tight smile. “Right.”

xxxxxxxxx

“I trust him!”

Finn’s whole body freezes, fixing her with an incredulous stare. At first she’s worried about his reaction to her admission, worried about what he’ll think, in the beginning it had been her and Finn against Bellamy and his followers, but somewhere along the way things had changed. She’s suddenly aware that she doesn’t care what Finn thinks anymore because, unlike with Bellamy, she doesn’t _trust_ Finn anymore.

The revelation hits her hard, her heart dropping. As good a person as he is, she knows now that her faith in Finn had been sorely misplaced. He was never a knight in shining armor, never as selfless as she thought he was. She should never had trusted him with her heart, and she tells herself that she won’t make that mistake again with _anyone_.

Bellamy on the other hand, has slowly earned her trust, changing into the leader they need to survive, a man who’s willing to make the hard choices for the better of the group. But if she’s honest, that’s not the only reason for her new outlook on her co-leader – she’s changed too, the unrelenting danger and harsh environment of the ground has hardened her enough to see the reality of Bellamy’s words.

_“Who we are and who we need to be to survive, are very different things.”_

The things he’s done, the things _they’ve_ done, were necessary to their survival, _everyone’s_ survival. And that’s something she doesn’t think Finn’s idealistic mind will ever understand, much less agree with.

“You can’t be serious.” He says it with abhorrence and she can feel the defensive anger rise up within her.

Her eyes are hard and her jaw is set as she looks at him. “I am,” she says firmly, making sure to leave no question in his mind about her thoughts on the matter. She trusts Bellamy implicitly, without question or reserve. Now if only she could deal with all the other emotions that he’s seemed to have awoken inside her.

xxxxxxxxx

Clarke can feel his eyes on her, making her muscles tighten and her skin burn fiercely. She’s facing away from him, kneeling in front of Micah as she wraps his hand – he’d burnt it the day before in his drug fueled haze, trying prove that he was ‘master of the flame’. Thankfully, Raven kept him from causing any truly serious injury to himself, only a few third-degree burns, which will still be painful enough to deal with, she’s sure.  

“Make sure you keep it wrapped. Monty’s cream should help.”

Micah nods with gratitude as Clarke stands and looks down at him with a kind smile.

Every cell in her body is telling her to turn around, to just _look_ at him, at his dark messy hair and smooth dusky skin. She knows he’s probably scowling, he’s always scowling, but now she also knows that beneath his hard, angry exterior is a soft, gentle man who can touch her in a way that makes her body come ali-

_No_. She absolutely is _not_ going to go there. As much as she’d enjoyed their… copulation the day before, it’s ruining any kind of focus she needs to do her work _today_. Her mind can’t seem to stop replaying the images of what their bodies did together, making her heart race while she throbs with need.

She’d take care of the problem herself, thinking that perhaps if she just got off already then maybe it would go away, but there just wasn’t any time, someone always seemed to need her for something. Not to mention, she was _never_ alone. Even tonight, she thought wearily, she’d be stuck in a tent with two other girls.

She closed her eyes, feeling the frustration mount within her.

Even worse than her perpetual horniness are the _feelings_ that seemed to assault her relentlessly. She’d been high the night before, and the ridiculous sentiments that had gone through her mind had been nothing more than a side effect of the nuts.

She _knows_ that.

_But then why do they still linger?_

She hears him, his husky voice calm as he trains his group of teens on how to properly aim their rifles. Once again she fights the urge to turn and look at him. She doesn’t entirely know what this is – this thing that’s happening within her – but she needs to get ahold of it quickly if she’s ever going to be able to be in his presence again.

She releases a sharp breath before walking away, his voice still carrying across the distance, or maybe her ears are just picking it out in the cacophony of voices in the camp. God, she was so screwed.

xxxxxxxxx

Bellamy watches as she strides away, giving himself a moment to enjoy the view before allowing his misery to reclaim him once more. He doesn’t really understand it, if anything he should be happy. They now have weapons to help fend off the grounders, enough food for all of them to last until the rest of the Ark comes down, and best of all, he’s been pardoned. What the hell else does he need?

_Clarke_ , his mind immediately supplies. He desperately needs Clarke.

At first he thought that maybe she was angry, he hasn’t even seen her today until just now, but then he remembers the forgiveness she gave him, as well as the plan she’d come up with to save him from Jaha. The looks she’d given him, the things she’d said – she wasn’t angry, he knew that, but it was definitely something – he could feel it in the way she’d absolutely refused to turn around no matter how hard he’d stared at her back.

He lets out a frustrated sigh before turning to Harper, correcting her hold on her rifle.

He doesn’t know what the hell this is. Doesn’t understand why the thought of her is suddenly invading every part of his brain, making it difficult to concentrate on anything except for her amazing body and beautiful mind.

_Fuck, her_ mind _?_ _When the hell did her mind become_ beautiful _to me?_

Sure, he’s thought of her before. He thought she was condescending, irritating, and not to mention, she has the absolute best rack he’s ever seen. But those were things he’d notice about anyone, they were hypercritical and crude, and they didn’t define her. But after Atom, after Charlotte, things were different, _he_ was different, and he started noticing other things about her, like her selflessness, her brilliance, and her strength.

She’s a force to be reckoned with and she never lets go of an argument she thinks she can win – which is just about every damn argument they have. That fact turns him on as much as it pisses him off.

But he knows now that her mouth can put him in his place or spout a logical plan, as well as release the sweetest sounds that make his body go taut. The feel of her fingers gripping his hair, with the vision of her head thrown back and her mouth parted as her cries and moans fill his ears, had been intoxicating – even more so than the nuts. Her scent, her taste, the intelligence in her eyes and her fierce passion to keep them all going-

He feels himself stir and he rolls his eyes, because he’s an idiot. Sleeping with someone shouldn’t have this kind of effect on him. It’d been different with her, sure, but that was because they’d been high as fuck.

Right?

xxxxxxxxx

She sits in the dropship, inventorying the supplies and food left over from the Ark. Even though Bellamy and his hunters do a decent job bringing back meat, she doesn’t think it’d hurt to have an idea of what else they had.

Night has fallen and it’s dark except for the small lamp that sits beside her. Her task has taken a little longer than she expected but it’s done its job, keeping her mind off certain things she’d rather not think about.

She ties the sack of onions, returning it onto the shelf inside the dropship wall.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to avoid me.”

She jumps, whipping around, hair flying and heart racing. Her body relaxes when she sees Finn standing in front of the doorway, holding a hand to his injured side.

She rolls her eyes, turning back to her mess. “I’m not avoiding you, and you shouldn’t be up. You need to give it another day at least.”

She hears him coming closer and her body tenses.

“I feel fine. A lot better than I did, anyway. Thanks to you.”

She looks at him, sees his pale, clammy skin and how stiffly he holds his body. The corners of her mouth lift with amusement as she nods her head. “Yeah, you are the paragon of health.” She laughs softly, tilting her head. “Go back to bed, Finn. I promise you’ll be feeling better soon, but only if you give yourself time to heal.”

He shuffles his way to a chair, carefully easing down into it, letting out a contented sigh when he’s finally settled. His face is covered in a strange mix of harsh light and dark shadows. On anyone else it would make them appear dangerous and scary, but on Finn it just makes him look sad – like a lonely puppy without a home.  

She sits back, pressing her lips together. She’s not angry with him for what happened, hell, she doesn’t even blame him. What they did was something done in the heat of the moment, acting on their attraction for one another when they were at their weakest, surrounded by hopelessness and fear.

But it was a mistake, and everyone makes mistakes, but what she can’t forgive, what eats her up inside every time she sees his sad pleading eyes, is the fact that he refuses to see it that way. She’s trying so hard to be strong and to let it go, let _him_ go, despite the feelings she has for him, because that’s the _right_ thing to do. But he won’t let her. It’s like he’s determined to make this whole painful situation even worse for all three of them, and it absolutely kills her.

Raven is smart and beautiful, and goddammit Clarke _hates_ her, and she hates Finn for making her feel that way, and she hates _herself_ for too many reasons to even name. Her breath catches in her throat as she realizes just how toxic this whole thing has become.

“Clarke, I know you don’t want to talk about-“

“Finn…” She shakes her head, clueless on how else to make him just… _stop_. “Please.”

“We can’t just ignore _us_. There’s something between us-“

She stands, hoping that with height she can hold strong to her resolve. “There’s _nothing_ between us,” she argues, the lie slipping easily from between her lips.

“How can you say that?” he asks, desperately.

Her heart squeezes in her chest at the wounded look on his face, and more than anything she wishes she could just tell him the truth, ease his pain and tell him that he _does_ mean something to her, she _does_ care for him, but she knows it will only make things worse. He needs to move past this, move past _them_ , and revealing the feelings that she has for him would never allow him to do that.

She raises her chin, quickly blinking away any hesitation. “Because it’s the truth,” she says, firmly. “There is nothing between us, and you need to move on.”

He’s still, only staring at her with dark eyes and parted lips. She knows she still has a mess to clean up, but she can’t stay in here any longer, the oppressive atmosphere making it hard for her to breathe. She should also probably help him up, not wanting him to put any extra stress on his wound or stitches, but she can’t even think about touching him at the moment. So she turns without looking back, striding out of the dropship with an indifference she doesn’t feel, and which slowly melts away the closer she gets to her tent.

She stops halfway there, standing in the middle of the sleeping camp. She can hear the soft breaths and light snores of the teens around her, mixing with the sound of the surrounding woods, and she suddenly feels so alone. Alone on a foreign planet with mistakes she didn’t mean to make and responsibilities she didn’t want to take, weighing her down like an anchor. She doesn’t think she can hold them all up for much longer and she desperately wishes for some sort of respite, even if only for a second.

She drops her head, her eyes blurring and body trembling as she releases her pent up emotions. She squeezes her eyes shut against the tears but they fall anyway, sliding down her face and dropping from her chin. A soft cry escapes from her lips and she quickly covers her mouth with her hand. She can’t seem to stop now that she’s started and she’s terrified someone is going to wake and see their leader weeping uncontrollably.

She’s supposed to be strong, dammit. They need her, and she can’t fail them. She doesn’t even know why, honestly. Maybe it’s just like Finn said, maybe since she couldn’t save her father she feels this need to save these kids.

God, kids? She’s barely older than them. What the hell does it say about her that she feels as if she’s already lived lifetimes of pain and loss? And she’s terrified that there’s more to come.

Her crying suddenly stops when she feels him behind her, making her breathe heavily as she raises her head slowly. She can feel the pull of him, her body practically begging to turn and face him, just like it had earlier in the day, but she feels so weak with all the emotions, and fears, and desires racing inside her.

She hears his footsteps as he comes closer, and she tries to swallow the sudden lump that’s appeared in her throat.

“We’ll be okay,” he whispers, the breath from his words disturbing the back of her hair – he’s so much closer than she thought – making her shiver with some sort of anticipation.

What the hell is she anticipating, she wonders. Her mind supplies all _sorts_ of gratifyingly sensual things he could do, and her body responds in kind.

“You don’t know that.” Her voice is hoarse and she’s certain at least some of it’s caused by the intense feeling of desire sweeping throughout her body. Her skin longs to feel his as the memories of the night before seem to play on repeat in her head, and the sexual frustration of the day hits her abruptly like a tidal wave that she can no longer fight against.

She turns slowly, her wet eyes locking with his. She’s taken aback by the worry she finds there, expecting only to find lust, though she can see that as well. She sighs with relief, his unexpected concern for her helping to lift some of the ever present weight from her shoulders.

She thought that perhaps the night before was a fluke, the nuts playing tricks, making her feel that she wasn’t alone, that they were equals in all of their worries and responsibilities, but standing before him now she sees that she wasn’t wrong, this really _is_ who they are now, together, true partners in their need to protect this little civilization they’ve eked out on the harsh ground.

She watches as his eyes drop to her lips, and it fans the flame of the nearly uncontrollable hunger within her. She aches to let him and his amazing body help her forget everything, become a sort of salve to her wounds, but she knows this is dangerous. She _can’t_ let this turn into another Finn, for the sake of the 100 as much as herself, but she _needs_ him in a way she’s never felt before, like if she doesn’t touch him she might in fact explode with want.

“Clarke…” His voice low and now just as hoarse as hers, makes her belly squeeze in the most pleasurable way, nearly making her moan.

She leans forward, unable to stop the movement even if she wanted to, nuzzling her nose against his sharp jaw. “I want you,” she whispers against him, practically sobbing with desire. His hands come up to her waist, sliding down to her hips, pulling her forward, and she feels a shudder run through his body. “But this can’t be anything else.” She releases a hot breathe, letting it blow against his ear. “We can’t become anything else.”

She feels his head shake slowly and she fears for a second that he’ll refuse. “I’ll agree to any-fucking-thing you want right now.” He dips his head, touching his lips to her neck, featherlight, before sliding them up past her still wet cheeks, to her forehead. “What the hell is this, huh? You’re the only thing I could think about the last twenty-four hours, and I’ve hardly even seen you.”

She chuckles lightly, feeling better already and all they’ve done is barely touch. “I’m glad I wasn’t the only one.”

His warm breath washes down her face, and she closes her eyes with the relief of just being close to him, making her feel safe – feel whole.

“C’mon,” he says, against her temple, pulling her with him as he starts back to his tent.

He holds back the flap, letting her duck under. He follows, quickly setting his rifle against the frame.

If she were worried about any kind of awkwardness, she realizes now she shouldn’t have been, both of them coming together quickly, like some kind of powerful force that can’t be fought against.

Clothes fly off swiftly and haphazardly. She doesn’t know where they land, and she doesn’t care – she doesn’t care about anything other than the pleasure shooting through her veins, hot like lava, as their skin finally meets.

His hands are everywhere – fisting in her hair and sliding down her back to cup her ass. He pulls her closer and she’s amazed because she was pretty sure she was already plastered against him, but she doesn’t complain as her nails dig into his shoulder and his lower back, just as desperate for their touching bodies.

_Touching souls._

_No_! No, no, no. That’s not what this is. This is purely about sex. About getting off and getting some much needed relief. That’s all. That’s it.

She breaks away from his kiss, needing to distract herself, and she latches on roughly to his neck, worrying his hot skin between her teeth. He grunts, lifting her leg around him and she’s throbbing so hard, and they’re pressed so tightly together, she knows he has to feel it – feel the heat that seems to be radiating from her.

She wraps her arms tight around his neck as she feels their descent onto his pallet. She’s not even worried about it, not scared about falling and hurting herself because she knows that he has her, in every way.

She trusts him.

Fire and passion swirl around them, uninhibited and reckless, and she strains against his body, trying to pull him down closer to feel the hard planes of his chest and stomach.

His mouth finds her breast, kissing and sucking his way to the rosy tip and her head falls back, a soft moan leaving her lips as Bellamy plays with the pebbled flesh in his mouth, his tongue flicking and licking as his hand and fingers give some much needed attention to her other one.

With her eyes closed, and her muscles tight, she thinks about his beautiful mouth and lips, they’re so sinful and full, the chapped skin making her shiver as they slide against her, wrecking her with their skill, turning her into a greedy, panting mess. It would embarrass her if she didn’t feel so good.

He frees his lips from her nipple and loudly kisses his way across her chest to the other, fingers and lips switching sides, continuing in his delicious ministrations.

They’re like this for a short time as he worships her chest, whispering, guttural and rough, in between his suckling, about how he’s always wanted to see her like this, touch her like this. And even if she can’t understand the electric words that pour from his mouth in her lustful haze, his voice alone has her clutching her legs hard around him, rubbing herself against his stomach, trying to find friction where she needs it most.

He lets out a soft laugh, and if she weren’t already so far gone she’d be giving him a dirty look, instead she clutches him harder as his warm breath slides across her wet tip.

He kisses her body languidly, lips never leaving her skin as they skim their way to their next stop. He bites the bottom swell of her right breast, taking his time and surely trying to leave a mark, the asshole.

While overwhelmed with the feeling of his lips and teeth, she’s almost completely unaware of his hand as it slips further down her body until it’s _there_ , his fingers dipping in slightly, massaging her walls gently, making her gasp.

His fingers slide out and up till they rest on her clit, circling unhurriedly with a maddeningly light pressure, making her squirm and lift her hips, desperately seeking _more_. Her eyes are closed, her awareness of the world around her slowly dissolving away, then his lips are on her ear, kissing sweetly, chastely around the shell.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, “tell me what you like.”

She opens her eyes then, staring up at the top of his tent but not really seeing anything at all. “Please,” she begs softly.

His fingers still move in their gentle way, and she _wants_ , _yearns_ for… fuck she doesn’t know but-

He snatches her earlobe between his teeth making her whimper. “Tell me what you want, Clarke,” he says, around her flesh in his mouth.

She’s not sure if she just doesn’t know, or if she just can’t think, or if she just can’t speak or if it’s just _all_ of it at once culminating together, but the pressure is unimaginable and she needs more, so much more, and she’s suddenly grasping his hand, showing him with her actions what she can’t tell him with her words.

Her hips move in time with their fingers that she has move in a figure eight pattern against her swollen flesh, and as far away as she feels in this moment, lost in her own ecstasy, she still feels _him_ when he shifts against her, his hips moving slowly as he brushes his length against her thigh, his own need getting the best of him.

She moans at the feel of it, at the feel of him. And it _is_ him, not just the sex, but him, _Bellamy_ , that’s making her feel this way, and she knows that’s exactly the kind of thought she’s supposed to avoid, but right now it’s just… heaven. _He_ is heaven. And in this moment with him, the toxicity of Finn, and the weight of her- _their_ responsibilities, is nowhere in sight. It feels so good to be light and _free_.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she realizes that, that’s exactly how she felt the night before, only now there are no hallucinogenic nuts in her system, only Bellamy, the _desire_ for him racing through her, lighting her up from the inside out.

His fingers shift beneath her own, his thumb rubbing her as he slips two fingers within her, filling her in a way she hadn’t even known she was craving till this very minute, but oh, it is _exactly_ what she craves.

His lips find hers and he kisses her languidly, tenderly before looking down at her, her jaw going slack because of his very talented fingers, as she stares into his eyes and dammit if they don’t hold the deepest of emotions – just as she knows hers do as well. What a foolish person she was to ever think that they could do this without it _meaning_ anything. Maybe in the beginning, maybe when he was the camp bicycle and he resented her just as much as she couldn’t stand him and-

His fingers speed up and her eyes slam shut against it, against _him_ , but it doesn’t work, because as her body goes rigid and her nails break his skin, she knows he will always be there, inside her, no matter how far they are from each other and she cringes internally with fear before she explodes. She’s deaf and blind, her body rising to a height that she’s never been.

When she starts to come to she feels his hand covering her mouth and hears his voice, deep and raspy against her ear, shushing her gently.

He stares down at her, and everything is so quiet and perfect except for the part of her that screams, _no_. And she hates it, hates her weakness, hates this need she seems to have to… _need_ someone after her dad’s death.

She’s trying so hard to stop what’s happening between them but she’s already in so deep, and when he takes his hand away from her mouth and leans down to kiss her, she pushes him away, her heart tearing at the surprise that darkens his eyes before very quickly turning into pain.

She pushes harder, making him fall onto his back with a grunt as she straddles him. She doesn’t look into his face after that – can’t, if she wants to take back the control she’s lost and set this whole thing back on track.

With one hand on his chest, the other takes hold of him as she slides down, letting him fill her. Her eyes close with delight and her jaw hangs open, and she knows she must look ridiculous but she doesn’t care because it feels so _good_ , so delirious with pleasure she almost doesn’t even feel like she’s in control of _anything_ , as she sits astride him.

She begins moving, the muscles in her legs shaking as she uses them. She hangs her head back and licks her dry lips and loses herself in this sensation of physical feeling.

His grip is strong on her hips as he moves beneath her and she knows they’re going to leave marks, just like the one on her breast, and she can’t help but feel a tingling delight at the thought. He doesn’t own her – no one owns her – she’s a strong, independent woman, and the things she’s doing down here – taking care of the needs of these delinquents and making the tough decisions that need to be made – show the kind of woman she knows she is.

But she admits that a part of her enjoys knowing that he’s leaving marks, that when she walks around camp tomorrow, trying to ignore the advances of silly boys, or having to look into Finn’s pleading eyes, she’ll know they’re there, just beneath the thin layer of her clothes.

She feels a strange swelling within her, dark and greedy, as she thinks about the _girls_ – the ones that rotate in and out of Bellamy’s tent, the ones that were probably in the same exact place – in the same exact position – that she’s in now.

She huffs out as she leans forward, both palms on his chest, nails digging in, making him hiss as she leaves her own marks. They’re their own people, strong leaders who bow before no one – especially not each other – but in this way, they belong to each other. In this exchange of pleasure and release, there is only him and her, and she’ll be damned if he thinks that she’ll share.

She leans down low, her blonde hair creating a curtain around them as their eyes meet, hot and penetrating, and it’s the very thing she was terrified of because the feeling it gives – the connection – is exactly what she wants – what she _craves_.

But she won’t allow it, that fuzzy warmth to bloom in her chest, making her eyes burn with something more, something deeper and more meaningful than just using his beautiful body for her own selfish needs.

She snaps her eyes shut and leans forward, hiding her face between his neck and his shoulder, taking his skin in her mouth, determined to leave another – longer lasting – mark on him. She rides him harder as she worries his flesh between her teeth, sucking as hard as she can, making him gasp and groan as he crashes into her over and over, taking away her breath and her sanity.

He’s close and her heart flutters with anticipation, feeling his hand hold tighter onto her ass and his curses and cries become louder in her ear, and she feels amazing and sexy and so in control in this moment – she can already see how addicting this is going to become – till he’s finally there, coming undone beneath her, his muscles strained and his head tilted back. She watches the pulse in his neck as it beats at a furious pace, and she licks it without thinking, kissing and sucking it tenderly as it gradually slows down within him.

She feels heavy as she rests on his chest, moving up and down with each of his breaths, so she rolls off, their naked shoulders touching as she lies next to him. The darkness of their surroundings is oppressive and overwhelming and the smell of sex and sweat permeates the air, reminding her of what happened, what they’re becoming, of how much they’ve changed in the last day.

She wants to turn toward him, drape her arm across him and hide her face in his chest – take even more than she knows she should. But she won’t, because she’s stronger than that.

She sits up abruptly, holding his blankets to her chest, pushing her messy hair from her face. “That was… fun,” she says, breathlessly, “thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, making her close her eyes with nervousness, his silence deafening. She busies herself looking for her clothes, absolutely refusing to turn around till he finally speaks and she freezes.

“Yeah,” he finally replies, voice rough like sandpaper as it scrapes across her tender skin. “That was fun.”

She bites her lower lip as she dresses, trying desperately to keep from crying because dammit this is exactly what she wanted.

Isn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like my smut is too wordy, and I tried to cut back on that a bit but it felt strange, so I guess from now on, if I'm writing smut, just assume it's gonna be long smut, lol.
> 
> Loved it? Hated it? Something in between? Tell me what you think. I'm usually pretty nice :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a little late... like by five months. But hey, here's a new chapter anyways, lol. I'm sorry you guys, life has been kind of messy (and I'm hoping things start getting better soon). But if any of you are willing to pay me to just write fanfic everyday, I'll totally do it xD
> 
> Who else is dying because of this season? Ugh. I love me some angst, but this season is painful. So here's some season 1 smutty goodness for you all. Enjoy!

“NO! He is absolutely not going!”

Bellamy continues to stride away despite her protests. He soon hears her marching up behind him however, her strong legs – he knows just how strong they are – closing the gap between them untill she’s standing right in front of him, making him come to an abrupt stop.

He puts his hands on his hips and rolls his eyes before settling them on the irate blonde in front of him. Her flushed face and furious gaze turn him on way more than he knows they should, and he’s having a hard time focusing on her angry words when he’s so focused on the mouth that’s making them – and how much he wants to feel said mouth on his skin once more.

But her sharp tone breaks him out of his reverie and he blinks away the haze that is her.

“Clarke, we need him,” he argues back – once he realizes what it is she’s yelling about – gesturing to the wide-eyed kid beside him, who looks panicked at having been caught in the middle of their disagreement. “Spacewalker’s still lying around-“

“He’s _injured_.”

“-and we need a tracker.” Bellamy’s actually pretty proud of himself for keeping calmer than her for once during one of their arguments. Though he’s not sure how much longer that’s going to last if she doesn’t move out of his damn way.

Her brows furrow with shock and disapproval, her heated blue eyes boring into his own. “You didn’t even talk to me first.”

Now _he’s_ shocked, her hurt tone and imploring look confusing him as to what the hell this is really about. He glances at his hunters behind him before turning back to her, taking a step closer. “What the hell would I have to talk you about?” he says under his breath. “We’re hunting, just like we’ve always done.”

She looks like she’s fighting some sort of internal battle, the violence of which can only be seen in her eyes.

He sighs, wanting to soothe her frustration but he doesn’t know where it’s coming from. “Look, we’ll be back soon, okay?”

She takes her own step forward, and now they’re closer then is probably normal for two people having a heated discussion. But he doesn’t fucking care, because the worry etched across her face has his stomach clenching and his breath slowing in amazement. This is not Clarke. This is not how Clarke acts towards him.

Clarke Griffin does not worry about Bellamy Blake.

“Bellamy…” While his breathing has slowed down, hers has sped up. Her chest rises and falls with deep, full breaths, and you can’t really blame him when his eyes travel down to the cleft that peaks between the buttons of her Henley shirt. “That grounder, he’s more than likely made it home by now.”

He raises a brow. “I’m sure he has.”

“Then you know they’re out there,” she explodes, “waiting for their chance to- to-” She shakes her head in exasperation, her blonde waves trembling around her face.

Bellamy looks behind him once more. The small group seems riveted by their little disagreement, their eyes wide and faces eager, probably waiting for this to turn into one of his and Clarke’s knock-down, drag-out fights they tend to have.

He rolls his eyes, growling internally, more than happy to disappoint them as he takes Clarke by the arm, leading her away from their audience.

“Clarke, we have to get food.” He leaves his hand wrapped around her bicep, fighting the urge to caress her there with his thumb.

“I just inventoried last night, we _have_ food-”

“Not enough,” he exclaims. “Not nearly enough for almost a hundred teens. And with winter coming…”

He can see it in her expression when she accepts that he’s right. Her lips press together, and she exhales lightly through her nose.

Her gaze holds him captive, full of an earnest desperation that makes his mouth bone dry causing him to lick his suddenly parched lips. He thirsts for her in a way that absolutely terrifies him, and he’s not sure how to stop it. Not sure if he wants to.

He’d been so worried after their first time. After the drug had left their systems and he looked down at her mess of blonde hair, swollen lips, and flushed face. She would hate him for this, he thought. Hate him for taking advantage of her. But then… she saved his life… twice.

And last night. Last night was definitely something. And not just sex.

This could never happen on the Ark. _Would_ never happen. But he feels his heart begin to speed up inside his ribcage when it hits him that it could down _here_. He doesn’t know why he’s never thought of it before, why he’s never come to the conclusion of how different his life could truly be now that he was on Earth. All the things he never dared dream of on the Ark, the wanting ache for a normal life too painful, are all things he can now have.

And fuck him, but he really wants Clarke Griffin. He wants her in a way that encompasses more than just her body. He wants to make her smile and laugh, because she does it so rarely. And he wants to learn about her past and listen as she tells him how she imagines her future. And he’s not really sure when this all started. Just now? In the bunker? When she told him that she needed him? Or perhaps it was all those times when she refused to back down to him, with her bright eyes blazing and body tense. 

His hand tightens around her slightly, just enough for her to feel a bit of pressure, and he sees as her nose flares and her lips part, and it’s never been like this with anyone before. Never this intense or passionate, especially not when they’re both fully clothed and in the middle of a busy camp surrounded by irritating teenagers, and-

She quickly looks away, breaking their heated moment and taking a step back, leaving his hand hanging between them. He clenches it before letting it fall to his side.

“Clarke-”

“Will you please just… watch out for Cooper,” she says, referring to his new choice in trackers. “He has a gash on his leg. And, he uh, he doesn’t need stitches but if he’s not careful he will.” She refuses to meet his pleading eyes, only giving him a quick glance before walking away, leaving him alone with such a mess of emotions, he’s not sure what to do with himself. Or with her, for that matter.

Finally, after a shake of his head, he makes his way back to his hunters, rounding up the ones who wandered off in search of food or entertainment. And then he leads them out through the gate with a heavy heart and clouded mind.

xxxxxxxxx

Monty lays another plant on the table. It’s a leaf, long and deep green with round-lobed edges. He smiles with reassurance when Clarke looks to him questioningly.

“Red Oak.” It comes out more like a question than an answer, and she scrunches up her face, one eye closed in preparation of her mistake.

“Close,” Monty says with encouragement.

Clarke releases a pent up groan and drops her head on the table. She was never going to get this. She’d always hated Earth Skills, never paid much attention during the class. She’d been much more concerned with Health and Biology – and Art of course, her one selfish endeavor. But now she was definitely paying for it.

Wells, she thinks sadly, Wells was always good in Earth Skills. He would’ve mastered this little pop quiz.

“ _White_ Oak,” Monty corrects. “Quercas alba-”

Clarke takes hold of his hand, silencing him. “Monty, thank you for taking the time to teach me this. But seeing as how I’m barely getting it now, how about we save the scientific terms for later?”

With a gentle laugh, he nods. “Maybe much later.”

She returns his nod, brows high on her forehead. She knows what her strengths are, and she was big enough to admit that this was not one of them.

“Okay. Uses?” she asks.

“Uh, the bark has astringent properties.”

“That _is_ useful.”

“So, it contains tannins. A high amount, actually. So it can be toxic if used too much.”

“If it has tannic acid that means it could be used as an anti-viral and antiseptic.”

“Yep, but it has carcinogenic properties as well, so…”

Clarke nodded in understanding. “So, less is best.”

“You can make a tea to treat things like diarrhea, dysentery, sore throat.” Monty knits his brows, staring hard at the leaf in question. “Um… can’t re-”

“ _Clarke!_ ”

Both Clarke and Monty whip their heads around, Octavia’s frantic voice reaching them not even a second before the girl herself tears through the nylon covered doorway of the dropship.

Clarke’s heart stops when she sees the younger girl, her blue eyes are wide and frantic, her breathing shallow and fast. Clarke quickly eyes her up and down, looking for any kind of injury but finding none.

“Octavia, what’s wrong?”

The answer immediately comes crashing into the dropship.

Bellamy, supported by Miller on his left, limps to the nearest table, practically collapsing on to it.

She’s frozen in shock, and stares with dread while Miller eases Bellamy’s weight against the edge of the table, making him groan. She blinks, shaking herself out of it and rushing to his side. “What happened?”

His nose flares and his jaw is set tight, the muscles there working against some sort of pain.

Her eyes follow his arm, down to his hand that grasps at his thigh. It’s bleeding profusely, the viscous liquid seeping out between his fingers and dripping steadily onto the steel floor.

“On the table,” she orders both Miller and Octavia who proceed to help lift their injured leader. But he pushes them away, face red and sweating.

“I got it, I got it,” he growls.

“ _Bellamy_ ,” she scolds, but it doesn’t hold much weight, because even she can hear the concern that mixes heavily with the anger. So of course he ignores her, hopping up with a grunt till he’s sitting on the table, leaning back on his forearm while still holding his injured leg.

She rolls her eyes, hands instantly at his belt as she begins to undo the thick fabric.

“Really,” Bellamy groans, “In front of all these people, princess? I never would’ve figured you for an exhibitionist-”

“Shut up,” she says, quick and sharp, but it only makes him snort. “What happened,” she asks again as she begins hastily but gently pulling down his pants.

“A boar,” Miller answers in a shaky tone as he stares at all the blood.

She scoffs, finding at least some humor in all this. “Bellamy Blake, gored by a boar?”

“Fuck you,” he grounds out between clenched teeth, until he’s hissing as she pulls his pants over the wound.

She inspects it, her doctor’s eyes assessing the gory scene as her hands hold pressure to his thigh.

It isn’t that bad thankfully, and seems mostly superficial. Definitely not the worst wound she’s had to treat down here, the knife sticking from Finn’s chest a terrifying image that flashes in her mind. She sighs, but tries to keep anyone from seeing just how relieved she really feels.

“Okay. Octavia, I need you to bring me my medical pack and then start boiling some water.” The other girl gives a swift nod before turning away. “Monty?”

“Yeah?”

“Moonshine.”

“On it.”

“And any other disinfectants you’ve made,” she calls out as he rushes from the dropship. She notices heads poking past the parachute, whispering to each other as they watch the drama unfold. “Miller.”

Bellamy’s second practically jumps to her side.

“I need you to get them out of here,” she says, gesturing to the delinquents at the door, “and _keep_ them out of here.”

“Got it.” With an authoritative tone that nearly rivals a Guardsman, Miller begins forcing the crowd of teens out of the dropship and down the ramp, giving her some much needed space.

Her focus back on the bleeding man in front of her, she releases his leg, grabbing for his belt and rapidly pulling it through the loops before deftly tying it around his thigh as a tourniquet. “And you,” she begins firmly, “I need you to suck it up and stop moving.”

His eyes, glassy and dilated, focus on her with a look of awe as she glares down at him. God, what the hell was he thinking, she screams in her head. This isn’t that bad but it could’ve been so much worse.

And what if it had been? What if this was something she couldn’t fix on her own, like Finn? Only this time she didn’t have her mother to guide her.

She takes a deep, shaky breath, releasing it slowly, disturbing the sweat soaked curls on his forehead. What would they do without him? How would they survive? How would _she_ survive?

“You’re going to be okay.”

He huffs out a small laugh, eyes closing with a wry grin. “Never doubted you’d save me,” he teases, gravelly voice full of pain. “It’s what you do best.”

xxxxxxxxx

Monty left soon after bringing both the moonshine and a small pack of medicine he'd made. It turns out he didn’t do very well at the sight of blood, pushing the back of his hand against his nose and mouth, escaping as fast as he could with a muffled _,_ _sorry_.

Bellamy sends Octavia away as well, insisting that she still has a job to do, and that she wasn’t going to get out of it just because he was hurt.

Clarke watches Octavia as she grumbles all the way out of the dropship.

“You know,” she says, pulling a thread gently through the angry gash on Bellamy’s thigh, “she’s actually been really helpful lately.”

Bellamy scoffs, deep in his throat. “Helpful at what? Pissing me off? Because that’s something you both seem to do really well.”

She tilts her head, her glare sharp and burning. She then tugs harder than necessary on her next pull of the thread, causing him to grunt softly. It makes her feel a twinge of satisfaction. “You could try giving her some slack.”

“The last time I gave her some slack she released that grounder. Put us all in danger.”

“She said she didn’t have anything to do with that.”

 _Are you fucking serious?_ He doesn’t even have to say it, his sardonic expression more than enough.

She sighs, returning her focus on her stitching, all but admitting how right he is. At this point it was just a waiting game till the grounders retaliated, and she knew it. “That’s not even what this is about.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You two have barely spoken since- since we tortured him.”

She doesn’t look up - can’t, for fear of seeing her guilt reflected in his eyes.

His silence is deafening – telling. And his chest rises as he takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “I told you before. She hates me.”

“Bellamy-”

“She hates me,” he repeats softly, voice laced with a profound sorrow.

Pity rises within her as she watches him stare miserably at the wall, his throat working as he swallows.

The hot-headed, confident man who stomped around camp, this was not. Seeing him brought down so low affected her more than she was willing to admit, but the urge to comfort him was overwhelming.

“Hey… I might not know Octavia very well, but… that girl who I saw just now, who ran in here frantic and worried about her brother, does not hate you in the least.”

He turns his head, dark eyes locking with hers, begging for her to relieve him of his guilt. Her heart squeezes in her chest when she realizes she could do for him what he was always doing for her, helping to carry the weight of her choices, of her culpability.

 _It’s hard being in charge._ But together it could be a little easier. Make the load little lighter.

“That girl,” she begins, determined to make him see, make him believe, “she loves you. So much.”

xxxxxxxxx

“Make sure there’s at least one person keeping watch at the gate all night.”

Miller nods in the semi-darkness of Bellamy’s tent.

“He knows, Bell,” Octavia says with a roll of her eyes.

“And make sure when it’s Chris’ turn you keep an eye on him. I catch that shit-head falling asleep on watch nearly every time I check on him.”

“He _knows_ , Bell.”

Bellamy glances at her in annoyance before Miller catches his attention.

“Don’t worry,” he says confidently. “I got this.”

He gives another nod before ducking out of the tent, leaving Bellamy sitting up against a heavy branch that serves as his headboard; Octavia kneeling beside him.

“You should relax. They know what to do.” Octavia shrugs a shoulder. “Well, Miller anyway.”

Bellamy stares straight ahead, unmoving. “Relax.” He says it like it’s a foreign concept to him. It sort of is, he thinks, trying to remember the last time he felt truly relaxed.

Octavia raises her brows, eyes going wide. “Yeah, you know, deep breathing, smiling, enjoying the moment. That kind of thing. Just don’t be an asshole about it Mr. ‘Whatever the hell we want.’”

He side-eyes her before looking away again. It didn’t matter who was in charge, or how close to death he was, there was no way he’d ever be able to relax down here. Not after learning about the grounders. And especially not now after torturing one of them.

Remembering his actions, he thinks of Octavia, and how afraid he is that she’ll never truly forgive him.

“O…” he starts, stomach flipping nervously.

She looks up from frowning at her grimy nails, a bored expression on her young face.

“I can’t… apologize for doing what I thought was right. For doing what I could to save one of our own.”

She swallows quickly, face strained with emotion.

“I know it didn’t even work, I know… I know that _you’re_ the one who saved Finn. I-” He exhales, thumb tapping his leg as he tries to find the words he hopes will set things right between them. “I ju- I can’t apologize for doing what I thought was right,” he repeats, “but I can apologize for hurting you.”

He can see tears as they swirl around her bright blue eyes, so different than his own dark ones. And she blinks against them with a clenched jaw, refusing to let them fall.

“O, I never meant to hurt you. I never _want_ to hurt you.” He shakes his head slightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

She sits back, pushing her tongue into her cheek. “You didn’t have to torture him.”

He looks down, unsure of what to say. He fucked up, that was the truth. “I made a bad call. I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve trusted you.”

When he finally meets her eyes he’s taken aback by the force of her sadness, a tear escaping and sliding down her cheek. His heart tears in two at the sight and he tilts his head, shaking it slowly. “O…” he says, voice cracking with remorse.

“Are you decent?”

Clarke’s voice shatters the delicate moment and Octavia jumps, sniffing and frantically rubbing the tears from her eyes.

Bellamy gives her a moment to compose herself, and if he’s honest, himself as well.

“Yeah, come in,” he eventually calls out.

Clarke enters his tent neatly, and his mind immediately takes him back to the night before, her blonde head and soft body waiting for him to follow her in before she quickly fused herself to him.

“What are you doing?” Octavia asks her.

“Oh, I just finished my rounds and I thought I’d check up on my least favorite patient,” she teases lightly.

“Least favorite?” Bellamy asks with a raised brow.

She hums in the affirmative before looking to Octavia. “Who would’ve thought, all these teenagers and it’s the grown man who’s my worst patient.”

“I am not the worst patient.”

“Finn was stabbed in the chest and he complains less than you.”

A black cloud of jealousy rapidly cumulates within him, darkening his eyes and making him clench his jaw. Of course he knows about her and Finn. The whole damn camp knows about the awkward link between Clarke, Finn, and Raven.

How a fucking moron like Finn was able to smooth talk his way into the pants, and obviously hearts, of two of the most brilliant women Bellamy’s ever met, he’ll never know.

He remembers when they’d first landed, the flirting that went on between Finn and Octavia, and he swears to god, if he sees that asshole trying to put the moves on his sister again after all the drama that he’s already caused, there isn’t anyone that’ll be able to stop him from beating the shit out of him.

But he’d assumed that whatever had happened between Clarke and spacewalker was over though, especially now with Raven in the mix. But now he wasn’t so sure. Was Clarke only using him to get back at Finn? Or even worse, was she imagining Finn while _he_ was inside her, making her moan and pant with pleasure?

“Is that the only way you compare us, princess?” he asks harshly.

He stares at her, still and unmoving, even though it feels like a damn nuke has exploded within his chest. Her eyes are wide, and a cruel part of him smirks at her obvious shock with his bluntness.

The air is thick with an almost sinister intensity while his brown eyes face off with her blue ones.

“Oookay,” Octavia says, her shrewd gaze bouncing from Bellamy to Clarke. “This is… weird and uncomfortable. I’m outta here.”

Clarke’s gaze follows Octavia out of the tent before turning back to Bellamy. “Nice,” she says, irritably.

He’s being a dick and he knows it. He knows he should just shut the hell up before making things worse, but the insecurity is eating him up inside, making him feel weak. Something he refuses to feel ever again.

He raises a shoulder and brow at once. “What’s wrong, princess? Have a problem with spacewalker finding out about us?”

“I have a problem with anyone finding out about us!” she shouts suddenly, blinking with surprise at the intensity in her own tone.

His insecurity becomes a raging inferno as embarrassment heats his face and makes him nauseous. He didn’t know what he was expecting. For her to fall in love with him? Until a few days ago they could barely stand each other. He was fucking stupid is what he was.

“Bellamy-”

“Well then, I guess you should probably get the hell out of here before people start talking,” he sneers.

Her head tilts to the side, and her expression, that was beginning to look an awful lot like pity, quickly turns angry. Her glare could burn him alive if he weren’t already on fire.

She works her jaw for a moment before finally standing, violently ripping back the flap of his tent and stomping out.

His body quickly cools and his heart plunges into his stomach.

What the fuck was wrong with him? He drops his head forcefully onto the branch behind him with a _thump,_ releasing a heavy, furious sigh. He couldn’t even comprehend the thoughts racing in his mind. The only thing he could hear over and over again was _stupid asshole, stupid fucking asshole_.

He bangs his head on the branch again for good measure, a growl escaping from his chest when suddenly he hears the flap of his tent tear open again.

Clarke stands before him, rage practically radiating off of her as she frowns down at him. His heart begins racing and his jaw is slack because the animalistic ferocity in her eyes is so startling and arousing that if it killed him right now he knows he would die a happy man.

He can feel himself begin to stir, and he swallows thickly past his dry throat.

“I originally came in here _thank_ you,” she spits. “I spoke to Cooper earlier. He _told_ me what you did, you idiot.”

He can only continue to stare up at her, she has him so transfixed.

“Pushing him out of the way,” she continues with even more vehemence, if that’s possible. “You didn’t get hit because you were too slow. You got hit because you pushed Cooper out of the way before the boar could get to _him_. So thank you for keeping him safe!”

He knows he’s supposed to say something here, but for the life of him he can’t remember what the hell that’s supposed to be as his eyes rove up her legs and over her curves.

The tent is filled with the sound of their heavy breathing and the heat of their... _anger_? He doesn’t fucking know anymore what either of them are supposed to be feeling because _his_ body feels like it’s on overdrive and he needs to touch her more than he needs to breathe.

And thank god she must feel the same because she’s suddenly dropping to her knees, tangling her fingers through his hair and smashing their lips together so forcefully it takes his breath away.

The kiss is messy as they struggle for dominance, and painful when she bites his bottom lip before sucking on it. He finds the hem of her shirt, ripping it over her head and they swiftly come together again. He feels her remove her bra and he moans at just the thought of her curves pressed against him.

With one hand glued to her back, pushing her closer, because his skin craves the feeling of hers like nothing else, his other roughly kneads her breast, squeezing the pliant flesh, making her cry out.

He leans away quickly, breaking their kiss. “Sorry,” he mutters, searching her face for any hint of pain or outrage. But all he finds is a want that matches his own in its fervor, making him harder still.

She kisses him again, her tongue sweeping inside his mouth, tangling with his own. Her short nails drag down his chest making him groan. And when her fingers reach his fly she nimbly unbuttons and unzips it, reaching her hand within to hold him.

Feeling her soft hand around him, squeezing him, is both too much and not nearly enough, and he stops fondling her breast to hold her head, trailing his lips to her jaw. She’s panting beside his ear, the sound so sensual he can feel it all the way down his spine. When he finds a particularly sensitive spot just beneath her jaw, she squeezes him hard, making him groan into her skin.

She pulls back slightly, and he notices that they’ve somehow ended up with him sitting on the edge of his pallet, her between his legs. They lean against each other, just breathing each other in fast and hard as she slowly slides her hand up and down.

“Clarke,” he puffs out, clenching his jaw against the absolute ecstasy of the moment.

She kisses him, almost sweetly this time, tugging at his fly again to make more room. He grunts and she sits back on her feet, burning blue eyes locking with his before looking down apprehensively at his throbbing cock.

He can already tell what she’s thinking, the way she observes him bobbing in front of her, and as much as he would just fucking die for her to do it, her nervous swallow and hesitant expression has him thinking this is probably something she hasn’t done nearly enough to be comfortable with.

“Clarke-”

Before he can even tell her it’s unnecessary, she’s licking her lips and leaning forward, tongue slowly sliding from base to tip.

To say it’s a shock is an understatement. A jolt cracks through his body and he grasps the edge of his pallet, clutching at it hard. The next swipe of her tongue is focused on his tip, past his slit and then around the head.

He wants to speak, to say… something, but all that comes out is a raspy breath.

She scoots forward a little closer before settling again between his legs. One of her arms lays heavy on his uninjured thigh, gripping him through his pants, while the other hand is still wrapped around him, moving up and down once more.

She studies him, studies her own hand move against him with a fascination that makes him chuckle. She lifts her head with surprise and he smiles down kindly at her.

“First time, princess?”

“I’ve seen plenty of naked men while working with my mom in Med Station. Not to mention you.”

His smile transforms into a smirk, enjoying her inexperience a little too much. “Not like this.”

She continues working him slowly. “No, not like this.”

Looking back down, she takes the head between her lips, cheeks caving in.

He inhales, a calm washing over him even as his heart continues to race and he skin flushes hot. And he watches her, her blonde head bobbing slowly, experimentally, with furrowed brows. Tenderness swells within him for this remarkable girl. It squeezes in his chest and works its way down his limbs, making him feel both heavy and light all at once.

It scares him, how he yearns for so much more. This isn’t nearly enough. Her body isn’t enough. But he knows he doesn’t deserve her. Hell, he doesn’t even deserve this, but he’s a selfish being and he’ll take whatever she’s willing to give him. He just hopes that, in the end, she leaves enough pieces of his shattered soul to put back together again.

She begins taking him deeper, and the adrenaline in his veins rushes faster. She gives a grunt around him and he has to grip his pallet to keep from thrusting. He runs his fingers lightly through her hair, stopping at the back of her head and rubs his thumb back and forth across the dirty strands. The caress makes her look up, their eyes meeting and melting into each other.

It goes on like this, his heart swelling along with his shaft, and as he tries to control both he comes to understand that it’s pointless, because at this moment both belong to her.

As she gets more comfortable she begins to work faster, only slowing when he hisses at the accidental grazing of her teeth.

“You should stop now,” he warns, hoarsely, feeling the familiar tensing of release coming upon him.

Her mouth slides slowly, sensually, while maintaining eye contact, until she releases him with a _pop_. She sits up on her knees, kissing his neck as she continues to working him between their bodies.

“Clarke…”

His other hand has left his pallet, instead finding purchase on her lower back, pulling her in as close as he can.

Everything has gone hazy and all that exists is her. Her hand on his cock, her mouth on his neck, and her breath in his ear. She surrounds him in every way possible and he can’t break away, even if he wanted to.

The only thing that appears in his mind before it whites-out is how desperately he wishes he were inside her, that they were even closer. But she wanted it this way. For punishment? For control? He doesn’t know, and frankly, at this very moment he doesn’t fucking care.

He grunts into her neck as his mind shatters with bliss and his body all but disappears under her hands. It’s exactly where he wants to be, even though he knows it never lasts.

Fingers run gently through his sweaty hair, soothing and heartbreaking all at once. He grips her tightly, not wanting to let go because he knows the moment he does she’ll vanish with her fears. And he _knows_ there’re fears, he’s not stupid enough to think she’s as put together as she acts. Hell, finding her the night before crying in the middle of camp proved it. He just doesn’t know how those fears relate to him. Do they relate to him?

He leans back, sees the mess he’s made on her body, and begins turning his head this way and that, searching for his shirt to clean her off with. Finding it on his bed, he begins wiping off her chest when she wraps her hand around his, halting him and taking the shirt herself.

“I can do it,” she whispers, eyes downcast and body tense.

Her face is bright red as she tries hiding herself from him. He wants more than anything to just climb inside her head and find out what the fuck is going on in there because he’s more than a little confused.

“Clarke-”

“I’m not embarrassed,” she says quickly, putting on her bra. “I’m not embarrassed about us. That’s not why I don’t want people knowing.” She looks up at him then, eyes sad and apologetic. “I’m sorry if I made you think that it was because of you. But that’s not why.”

He’s not sure what to think but he’s surprised with her sudden need for clearing the air. In the admittedly short time that he’s known her, he’s come to find that Clarke’s more of a keep your hurt/embarrassed feelings hidden, kind of person.

“Then why?” he asks, desperate to hear the answer but not wanting her to know just how much her words from earlier had affected him.

She inhales deeply, hesitance written all over her face.

“Clarke, talk to me.”

Blinking rapidly, she release her breath. “If the camp knew we were sleeping together… they wouldn’t respect me.”

He furrows his brows, not at all anticipating this sort of answer. “Clarke-”

“It’s different for you. They rallied around you the moment we landed. You’re older, you’re a guy… it’s different.” She shakes her head. “Not to mention everything with Finn,” she finishes, softly.

“So that’s what you’re worried about. That the people won’t rally around you?”

She looks up quickly, brows knitting together. “ _No_. Bellamy, this camp, these kids… they _need_ us. And I need to help them. And I can’t do that if they only think of me as- as… your fuck buddy.”

He can’t help the snort or laughter that bursts from his chest. Leaning into his palm, he hides his eyes as is body shakes with his chuckling.

“I’m _serious_ ,” she says with irritation.

Her tone makes him look up, and he sees the offended expression on her face. He immediately ceases in his laughter, but is unable to hide his wide smile. “Clarke,” he says affectionately.

“Never mind,” she growls, turning away as she begins throwing around his clothes while for her own.

He leans forward, catching her arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Forget it,” she says, pulling out of his grasp.

“Clarke.” His tone is demanding, making her look to him once again. “I’m not laughing at you. Just… nobody thinks of you that way. These kids, they look up to you.”

“They look up to _you_ ,” she argues.

“And they see that I look to you. Clarke, I need you. And they see that.”

Her expression begins to thaw, and he feels suddenly lighter at having actually done something positive for her for a change. “Besides, if you weren’t here they’d all be crying to me about their scrapes, and bruises, and rashes and there’s no way I could handle any of that,” he teases.

She chuckles and he swears her smile lights him up inside.

“I need you,” he repeats. And it’s honest, he does need her down here. Who knows what would’ve happened had she not been there to soften his temper and help to balance out leadership. He needs her, but so much more than as just co-leaders. But he knows he can’t admit that to her. Not yet. Not when just fucking him has her so damn skittish.

She nods silently, biting her bottom lip, and he feels the blood pumping south once again. He remembers that she still hasn’t come yet. His mouth practically waters to taste her.

“So, does this mean you’ll stay?”

“Stay? I thought we already had the grand finale?”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a smile. “There’s more where that came from. Besides, I usually enjoy a bit of give with my take.”

She blinks slowly, contemplatively, before crawling – fucking crawling – to him. She sits up, hands on his knees, kissing him sweetly before breaking away. His lips follow her but she holds him back with a smile. “Maybe next time,” she whispers.

She gives him another kiss, this one long and slow and makes him want to melt into her. But all too soon she’s gone, pulling her shirt over her head and leaving him with one of her smiles that he tries to hold on to. You never know when you’ll need something positive in this shitty world.

He sighs, lying back on his pallet, a hand resting on his forehead. His leg begins to throb and he closes his eyes against it. He can handle the physical pain, the bruises and abrasions that litter his body. It’s the emotional wounds he’s not so good with. Images of both Octavia and Clarke flash in his mind and he tries to steel himself for the pain he knows is coming. Because if there’s anything he’s learned in his twenty-three years of life, it’s that good things never last.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers. I bring you chapter four, and it's Unity Day! This turned out waaay longer than I was expecting so this is more of a part one (part two hopefully coming soon, but I make no promises since I'm horrible at keeping those).
> 
> So I wanted to ask, how do you guys feel about the Ark? This story isn't outlined (I know, shame on me) and I'm wondering how close to canon I should stay. Do you guys want the Ark coming down? It might be interesting to see Clarke and Abby's relationship, not to mention Bellamy and Kane. Or would you all prefer this story stick with just the delinquents dealing with life on the ground? Tell me your thoughts and I will be forever grateful for your input :)
> 
> Thank you all for reading. Your comments and kudos give me life. Sorry for any mistakes and enjoy!

She can feel the goosebumps raised uncomfortably down her arms as the cold sinks deep into her bones. It’s almost worse than the near constant trembling of her muscles as they try to keep her warm.

It’s already beginning to wear her out and she isn’t even fully awake yet.

She groans softly. Somehow, even in her semi-conscious state, she’s still aware of the others sharing her tent, sleeping only a few feet away.

Wrapping her thin sheet tighter around her quivering body, she tries to think warmer thoughts. She’d refused to take any of the thicker blankets they’d found in the bunker, there being only so many to go around, and instead made sure they were given to the youngest first, as well as any others whom she thought might be more prone to sickness once winter set in.

The rest she’d allowed Bellamy to hand out, and she didn’t say a damn thing, no matter how much she may have wanted to, when he’d given the kids in his little militia first pick. Never mind the fact that they were the hardiest, or that they were mostly the ones shacking up and creating enough body heat to warm themselves just fine.

Of course, that train of thought leads her to remember her and Bellamy’s own body heat inducing activities.

She doesn’t fight the memories as they gradually overcome her senses, still too drowsy to even try. Instead, she allows herself to imagine his body, so much broader and heavier than her own as he hovers above her. It causes a shiver of another kind to race down her limbs, warming her from the inside out.

And soon her mind is brimming with heady images.

The feel of solid muscle and smooth skin pushing down against her supple curves makes her belly clench, the fluttering anticipation there, intensifying.

Her heart beats a rapid tattoo against her ribcage when his lips begin traveling past her own, softly kissing up her jaw until they’re on her neck, laving his warm tongue over the bite marks he leaves there. His teeth finally find that point on her neck that makes her see stars, and she releases a hot breath as he sucks hard on the spot.

She feels his hands, so large and warm. There’s a strength in them that makes her yearn to be touched by him and that’s exactly what he does, the pads of his calloused fingers roving over every inch of her. But it’s feather light, like he’s afraid of hurting her, like she’s some sort of porcelain doll – and holy shit, that is the absolute _last_ thing she is. Certainly the last thing she wants to feel like.

So she shows him, shows him how much she can take, how much she wants, and digs her nails into his flesh, tangling her tongue with his own.

He must get the hint, groaning into her mouth and wrapping his hand hard around her thigh, squeezing the pliant flesh almost painfully, causing her to squeak at the pleasant pressure.

Her eyes immediately fly open at the noise, and she inhales sharply, quickly stilling the hand slithering its way to her breast.

As her vision adjusts to the dim, blue light of dawn, she sees the shape of the girl across from her, her chest moving rhythmically as she continues to sleep.

She lifts her head up and looks to the left, trying to spy on her second tent-mate. And thank god she too is still asleep. She drops her head on her pillow in relief, and perhaps a little bit of frustration. Okay a lot of frustration.

Her jaw clenches and she internally berates herself for her little fantasy. It’s stuff like that, that makes this whole situation even harder.

Her fuzzy mind, still somewhat lost in the gutter, instantly remembers how she’d made _him_ harder the night before, how she felt him growing hard on her tongue, and how much she enjoyed it as he did. It felt good making him feel good, and she wants it again – wants him again.

She pulls her sheet over her head, releasing another quiet groan, this one out of disappointment and embarrassment instead of desire. She can already tell this is going to be the worst Unity Day ever.

xxxxxxxxx

Bellamy inspects his wound, his leg stretched out before him as he sits up on his pallet. He frowns down at the angry red skin pierced by neat little rows of stitches holding his flesh together.

Releasing a heavy breath, he lets his head fall back, trying to prepare himself for the day ahead.

Unity Day.

Managing difficult teenagers and worrying every other second about how they were going to survive was hard enough when they _weren’t_ drunk.

It was a heavy burden, sometimes too heavy, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it. It’s crazy, he knows, but just remembering the _powerlessness_ he felt on the Ark, his inability to protect himself and those he cared for, still gave him nightmares.

The ground was no dream by any means, but even with all of the hard work and the pain being down here has brought, it was still so much better than on the Ark.

The ground is freedom. The Ark; a prison.

But he knows they’ll be coming down soon, knows that, for better or worse, if he and the others want to survive down here, they need the rest of their people. But the thought alone has his stomach flipping and his fists clenching.

He’s been pardoned, yes, but that doesn’t make it better. That doesn’t take away his mother’s death or his sister’s wrongful imprisonment. It doesn’t take away his anger, or his worry of what they’ll do, of the laws they’ll implement when they come down.

The flap of his tent opens without warning and his head snaps up. Wavy blonde hair is the first thing he notices and his heart skips a beat. He hoped she’d be back in the morning, if only to check on his injury like the good little teenage doctor she was.

But the excitement that’d begun coursing through his veins at lightning speed, very quickly slows with disappointment when he’s finally able to see his visitor properly.

Bree.

The night he spent with her and Roma flashes in his mind, the memory full of lean bodies and annoying giggles.

He can barely breathe with the gut twisting guilt he feels over Roma, over how she died following him on his quest to find Octavia.

He stares at Bree for a moment, uncertain of what to say to her. He hasn’t had much of a chance to speak with her, things being as hectic as they’ve been. And yeah, he may also have been avoiding her and all the feelings just looking at her brings to the forefront of his mind. But honestly, he just doesn’t have the time or energy to deal with the drama this is sure to cause.

He sees her eyes as they travel down his body, and he remembers that he’s clad only in his underwear. He doesn’t even bother covering himself, this is his tent after all, and she’s the one who came in unannounced.

“You need something?” he asks. It’s short and dismissive, almost cruel after everything, but he can’t seem to make it come out any other way.

“I uh, I know you were hurt. Figured you were probably out of commission for a little while.” She shrugs her shoulders, offering a smile that he can tell is meant to hide her uneasiness. “So I brought you some breakfast.”

He notices for the first time the small, flat piece of metal she holds in her hand, obviously serving as a plate. She sets it down carefully on his nightstand. It’s piled with fruits, nuts, and a bit of meat, it smells amazing – despite the lack of choices, both the fresh and cooked food down here is also superior to the cold, nutritious packets of mush they were served on the Ark.

His stomach growls, making him turn away from the food in embarrassment.

She ducks her head, trying to hide her smile, but he can still hear the giggle that makes his stomach turn. And just like that, he’s not so hungry anymore.

He clears his throat, hoping to find a way through this encounter as painlessly and quickly as possible.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

He only nods, totally at a loss with this whole thing.

His heart begins to hammer in his chest, and he knows he must not be handling this very well at all when she kneels next to his pallet, her hand resting beside his thigh. He clenches the muscle, steeling himself as he tries to keep from sliding it away from her long fingers.

“I know that you don’t wanna talk about Roma.” No, he really doesn’t. “And we don’t have to. I don’t want to either. But I wanted to tell you that I know I should’ve been out there too. With you and Roma, I mean. And when she died… I’m sorry I wasn’t. I’m not brave like her.”

He hesitates, blinking mindlessly at her words because… they’re crazy. Thinking that she should’ve put her life in danger for his needs is completely outrageous. And the fact that she thinks that, that’s what he would’ve wanted – that, that’s what he expected of her – is just as insane.

He stares at the orange and white of his tent because he cannot stand to look into her desperate, sorry eyes, begging for his forgiveness for something she absolutely does not need forgiveness for.

_All I do is hurt people._

_I’m a monster._

Jaha, the culling, Atom. So many people, but there are other ways besides the physical that you can hurt someone. The rest of these kids, the way he’s used them and manipulated them for his own selfish reasons, made them feel as if he had the answer, as if he could protect them, when in reality he never gave a damn about whether any of them lived or died, that was how he’d hurt _them_.

And this girl, who was barely older than his sister, believed that he deserved her life if that’s what it came down to.

“Bree, I-” he starts, voice broken and heavy.

“I know things have been kinda crazy with the grounders and everything. And you’re busy.” She sets her hand on his thigh and his nose flares as his eyes snap to her. “You do so much for us. You keep us all safe, and you work so hard-”

“It’s not just me,” he blurts out, because he needs to stop this insanity _right now_. “Clarke. Clarke is there. She’s helping all of us. If you need to talk to someone, I’m sure she’ll listen.”

She gives a small huff of laughter, one brow raised. “ _Clarke?_ Did you forget where she comes from?”

Of course he hasn’t forgotten. She’s the privileged pain in his ass that questions just about everything he does, but he knows now that things aren’t as black and white as they first appeared. And Clarke keeping him in check, reminding him of what’s important, might actually be the best thing for all of them. What station they’re from no longer matters – only survival. And life and death situations have a habit of turning enemies into allies… or lovers.

“No,” he answers. “But her being from Alpha Station doesn’t define her.” He looks hard into Bree’s eyes as he tries to make his point. They needed to work together now, or they were all going to die down here. “Any more than being Factory born defines us.”

She nods at the ground, but he can’t be sure if she actually agrees with him. “You’re a good guy, Bellamy Blake.”

And he didn’t think he could feel any shittier, but of course he can because he has no clue what the hell her last name is. He isn’t even sure he’d know what her first name was if it wasn’t for Roma repeatedly moaning it the other night.

With a squeeze of his thigh that makes him flinch, she stands, making her way to the entrance of his tent.

“Bree,” he calls out. He doesn’t know why he does it, doesn’t know what he wants to say-

Yes he does. He wants to tell her how sorry he is… for everything. But the words are stuck in his throat because he wouldn’t even know how to explain the apology, and she wouldn’t understand it.

But now she’s looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to say _something._

“The food. You should have it.” It’s lame but it’s all he can come up with.

She gives him a smile, a large one that he’d return if he didn’t feel so fucking miserable at the moment.

“It’s for you. You deserve it.” And with that she’s gone, leaving him in even more misery. Which is exactly how he was expecting this day to go.

xxxxxxxxx

Clarke strolls casually past various groups of delinquents, her hands deep in her pockets to ward off the chill as she grins at the playful, happy teens around her. After all the anxiety and fear that had fallen over camp after Wells, Murphy, and the grounders, it was nice to see it filled with easy-going smiles and untroubled laughter. These kids may be criminals, alone on a hostile world, but they were still kids, and they deserved to act like it – at least once and a while.

But it was Monty and Jasper who deserved the credit for it really, coming to her and Bellamy and asking for just one day of fun, one day where everyone could relax and hang out. It was Unity Day after all, they’d argued.

Bellamy had immediately gone tense, his whole body still and his face taking on that _you’re a fucking idiot, and I have more important things to deal with_ expression. But she’d placed a hand on his arm, telling him that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. It was only one night, and the rest of the Ark would be here soon enough.

His face had grown darker, harder, preparing for a fight. But then he’d hesitated, their eyes catching up in each other and she saw as his transformed from a scalding inferno into a smoldering flame that seemed to melt away every thought she’d had.

Clenching his jaw, he’d rubbed his hand down his face. “Fine. But only for one night.” Monty and Jasper answered with vigorous nodding. “And I’m telling every one of my people that I don’t care how hungover they are, if they have guard duty the next morning they better be up and out there on time, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

Jasper had let out a whoop, wrapping an arm around Monty’s shoulder as they eagerly sauntered off to inform the rest before Bellamy could change his mind.

Standing beside her co-leader, she’d pressed her lips together tightly, trying to stifle her smirk. “Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?”

She’d caught the flash of a boyish grin before it was quickly smothered by the familiar hard line of his mouth. “Shut up,” he responded with an embarrassed huff, a flush darkening his already dark cheeks. Then he’d walked away, hands on his hips, looking every bit like the responsible adult that he was trying so hard to be.

He was always so serious, unless he was acting like an asshole. And even then, the things he did seemed to be out of spite or anger. Was he ever just happy, Clarke wonders?

What was a carefree, lighthearted Bellamy like? Was he lively and silly? Mischievous and teasing? What kinds of things made him laugh, made him smile? What were his interests? Favorite subject? Did he even enjoy school? Or perhaps, because of Octavia, it was more of a burden. She’s suddenly curious how he’d dealt with the pressure of his secret for so long.

Had Bellamy Blake ever even been _allowed_ to be carefree? His whole life, or most of it anyway, had revolved around the secret of Octavia, around _protecting_ Octavia. Of course she’s always known it, has seen his watchful eyes that never go very long without searching for his independent little sister, as if he just needs to assure himself that she’s safe.

She’s always known it, but she’s never really comprehended just what it’d meant for him and his life on the Ark.

She stills in the middle of camp, overcome with sadness by the realization of how lonely he must’ve been – how isolated. She knows what it’s like to keep a secret that means life or death, but the knowledge of her father’s discovery had only lasted days before her arrest. What would it have been like to carry the weight of such a secret for _years_ – the responsibility of it?

“C’mon, what’s taking so long?”

Her attention is caught by the small crowd gathered to her left, standing in a semicircle around a working Raven.

“Hey, do you want try this without frying your face off?” Raven snaps at the mouthy boy in the front. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

Stepping up beside Fox, Clarke watches the gifted mechanic. “What’s going on?”

“Raven’s setting up the monitor out here so we can all watch the Unity Day ceremony.”

Nearby, Miller gives an indignant snort. “Yeah, and I’m sure most of it’s just gonna be Jaha talking out his ass.” Miller’s comment earns him the laughter of the crowd, but Clarke can just make out Raven’s angry grumbling behind the monitor as she twists the wires harder together.

“Hey Miller, have you seen Bellamy?” She tries to ask it as inconspicuously as possible. “He wasn’t in his tent.” And cringes internally at the neediness she hears in her own voice. But thankfully, Miller’s attention is on the monitor, and the irritated mechanic behind it.

“Think I saw him hobbling around here somewhere.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Right.” She’d spent a good portion of her busy day to nurse him, but if he’s determined to hurt himself, that’s his own problem.

Of course, that thinking doesn’t last very long, listing in her head all the ways he could worsen his injury which would cause her more work anyway.

Deciding to try the dropship, she pushes past the parachute, determined to locate and scold the unfairly handsome moron for not listening to her _only_ instruction to stay off his damn leg.

She freezes on the spot, coming upon a very different patient who insists on ignoring her medical advice.

“Finn.”

There’s a few moments of uncomfortable silence, the memory of how she’d left things between them hanging heavy in the air.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he finally says. “You can probably help me.”

“Help you?”

“The cream Monty gave me.”

It’s then that she notices how he’s bent over, searching through Monty’s stash of antibiotics that he’d made for her.

“It’s in here somewhere. I’m just not sure which one it is.”

She walks up beside him, quickly scanning the small containers before pulling out the right one.

“Why didn’t Monty just give it to you?”

The awkwardness between them is thick, but she’s clueless on how to fix this.

So instead she watches with concern as he applies the clear cream to the wound at his side, enjoying the distraction that slipping into the role of caretaker offers her.

“He did, but I might’ve lost it somewhere,” he says with a hint of amusement. “When can you remove the stitches?”

“A few more days, at least.”

Once he’s finished she steps away, noticing how close they are. “Make sure you don’t lose it this time,” she says, turning for the door.

“Clarke, wait.”

“Don’t.” She means for it to be a demand, but it comes out more like a plea. With her back still to him, she shakes her head. “Please just… don’t.”

She doesn’t know what it is that’s compelling her to stay, she’s been in here too long. But she still can’t move when he comes up beside her, staring hard at her profile.

She refuses to face him.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Please, just… listen.” He swallows hard, hard enough for her to hear. “I know what I did. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not telling you about Raven. I’m sorry for hurting you. You need time. I get it. I just… I can’t lose you.”

“Finn-” She wants to feel angry – slighted. But she doesn’t. Instead, she only feels sad – for herself, for Raven, for this boy who she’s trying very hard not to care for.

“I know, okay? I understand that it can’t be what it was before. What it could’ve been, but… I still need you. As a friend. I still want to be your friend.”

She does look at him then, all big brown eyes and shaggy hair and maybe he finally does get it. Maybe they can start healing the wounds they created with this mess because… god, she _does_ care for him, and she doesn’t want to lose him either.

With a tight smile, she nods, and the absolute relief on his face almost hurts.

They exit the dropship together, and Clarke sees the crowd she’d left, standing around the now working monitor.

A sense of contentment washes over her at the sound of Jaha’s encouraging voice when it floats up from the monitor. He might not be her favorite person, but the timbre of his voice reminds her so much of home – the good home, the home before she was imprisoned and her father was floated. The home where she spent her days in class with Wells, and Med Station with her mom. His voice reminds her that they’re not alone, that help is on the way, and that soon, the weight of her responsibilities will be lifted.

From the look Finn gives, she can tell he doesn’t feel the same. When she asks him about it, he cynically reminds her about the truth of Unity Day, and the lie it perpetuates.

“The Unity Day story gives people hope, though,” she tells him. “Peace came out of that violence.”

“Yeah, but did there need to be violence at all.”

He’s right, she knows it. Violence isn’t always the answer, and it certainly shouldn’t be the first course of action. But as much as she admires his conviction and expectation for humanity to do better, she also understands that it’s an unrealistic, if not dangerous, ideal.

She _hopes_ humanity can do better in the future, hopes that peace will one day be a priority over violence, but she’s not foolish enough to put herself, or others, at risk for that hope.

Perhaps she’s the cynical one.

Her eyes catch Raven’s, the other girl glancing at her with a passive resentment, and her cheeks grow hot with shame. Despite the fact that she’s done nothing but rebuff all of Finn’s advances, she can never get over her part in what happened between the three of them.

She hurries away, refusing to look back, and makes her way to the camp entrance. She’s well aware of her co-leaders proclivity to walk the perimeter outside their walls.

“What are doing, Clarke?”

She peers up, squinting against the bright sun as it filters through the green canopy above her. Patrick guards the wall, his dirty face looking down at her. She was going to have to speak with Bellamy about camp hygiene, the last thing they needed was sickness spreading through the camp.

“Is Bellamy out there?”

“Yeah, he went out a few minutes ago.”

She nods and begins opening the heavy gate.

“There’s no going outside camp without a gun.”

She sighs without stopping. “Yeah, I’m well aware, thank you.”

“But Bellamy sai-”

“I’ll worry about Bellamy,” she says before strolling past the gate.

She doesn’t have to search long before she finds him.

Rifle in hand, he meanders slowly with a slight limp beside the wall, brows furrowed as he scans the woods. She was angry before – or at least annoyed – and was all for unleashing it on him (why the hell can’t he just stay put for one day).

But seeing him here now, obsessive in his need to protect all of them and this home they’ve created for themselves, she practically feels the anger drain away. The warmth of it being replaced by a burning desire for him – which she is obviously just going to have to deal with forever now because damn, is it never going to go away?

“Bellamy,” she calls out, alerting him to her presence.

“Princess,” he acknowledges with surprise. “What are you doing out here without a weapon? I think that was one of your rules wasn’t it, no going outside the walls without a gun?”

Clarke narrows her eyes, head tilted. “Mmm, pretty sure that was one of yours. Besides, I don’t need a weapon.”

His teasing grin slowly transforms into a frown.

“I have you.” And just like that it returns, along with a husky chuckle that pulls low at her belly. “So, what the hell are _you_ doing out here? You’re supposed to stay off the leg.”

He takes a step back, glancing up at the wall. “Just… making sure everything’s secure before tonight.” It’s soft and sad, and so unlike Bellamy it actually worries her.

“Are you okay?”

Clenching his jaw, he nods his head.

Then after a deep breath, his mood quickly changes once again, and she wonders how he does it, putting on a different face for every situation. It has to be exhausting.

“Of course it can always get better,” he says as he takes his time limping towards her, a roguish smirk on his face. She can feel her own heating up and she _knows_ he can see it.

Finally, he’s close enough that she can feel the heat of him, the toes of their boots nearly touching. And she longs to feel him. To lay her hand on his chest and see if his heart is beating as fast as hers, if his skin is as hot as she remembers.

But she refuses to give in first, clenching her fists and pushing them deeper into her jacket pockets.

“Can it?”

His only response is a quirk of his brow.

Their eyes duel over the short distance between them, and she’s practically glowing at the sizzle of electricity it generates. It’s needy and stimulating and she swallows hard at the overwhelming sensations. His molten eyes breaking away from hers to follow the movement at her throat. Which just makes everything that much worse… or better, she can’t really tell right now.

“Come find me tonight,” he pleads, voice raspy and low.

She hesitates, unsure of what to say, not wanting to give in so soon, yet at the same time, yearning to give in completely. “Why?” she breathes.

He lets out a soft huff of laughter, lifting his thumb to her lips, and she instantly remembers the bunker, remembers taking his thumb into her mouth and-

“I still owe you for last night.” He sounds positively _wrecked_ , and it has her stomach in knots and her chest so tightly constricted she’d be worried about it if she wasn’t so damn aroused.

“Is that what this is about? Repaying each other in sexual favors?”

He steps closer, his chest pushing lightly against hers, and his heart _is_ beating rapidly – ferociously – and it makes her smile – just a small pull at the corners of her mouth. His thumb traces the movement and she swears it’s like a lit match scorching across her lips.

“What makes you think that it would only be for your benefit?” And he leans in, nose and lips brushing across her cheek until his breath blows hot across her ear. He has her practically panting. “I’m dying to taste you again.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! Got back... somewhat fast. Part two of Unity Day, and it looks like there's probably going to be a part three, so there's that to look forward to! Thanks for your kudos, comments, and bookmarks, you're all beautiful people - hugs to each and every one of you.
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes, and I hope you enjoy!

Monty ducks into his “distillery”, Jasper sitting right where he left him. “You might wanna avoid Bellamy for a while,” he warns.

Jasper looks up swiftly from the steady drip of moonshine. “What? Why?” he asks, swallowing nervously. “What did I do?”

“Apparently he heard about you pawning off your shift at the meat crew.”

Jasper’s eyes go wide with panic, the need to vomit growing stronger. The last thing he wanted was to be on Bellamy’s bad side. “H-h-how did he find out?”

Monty plops down beside his friend, giving him a look of pity. “You pawned it off to Drew, who was late for guard duty because he was still gutting fish, and when Bellamy asked him why…”

“Oh, crap,” Jasper moans, dropping his face into his hand. Stupid Drew and his stupid mouth.

With a pat on the back, Monty offers him a smile. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll wait till after Unity Day to kill you.”

“Oh, crap.”

xxxxxxxxx

Clarke tries her hardest not to look behind her when she returns to camp, though she’s all too aware of the hungry gaze Bellamy keeps on _her_ as he follows close behind. She sways her hips just a bit more, giving him something to play with in his mind, something to look forward to.

Unable to help herself, she peeks back, preparing herself for a look of desire. What she’s absolutely not prepared for is his heated scowl that to anyone else makes him appear pissed beyond belief with her - as per usual, really - but only she can see it for what it truly is, a promise of things to come for her teasing performance.

It makes her breath catch and her belly clench in anticipation, skin buzzing as the blood rushes hot in her veins.

“We might have a problem.”

Clarke whips her head back around, blinking in surprise at the sudden appearance of Raven.

“What’s wrong?” She feels Bellamy’s presence as he stops beside her, the warmth his body exudes making her own still scream with want.

“I don’t know exactly. During the Unity Day Pageant the comms just… died.”

She furrows her brows. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. Could mean any number of things. It was just how it happened. Quick, with no static or dying signal.”

Bellamy crosses his arms. “Another storm maybe?”

Raven shrugs a shoulder, unconvinced. “Maybe.”

“Maybe it’s something from their end, they somehow got cut off?”

“We can’t really do much about that,” Bellamy breathes out heavily. “So we’ll wait, see if they come back on. I’ll have a couple guys reinforce the tents and walls, just in case another storm is on the way.”

And after a brief moment of hesitation he’s gone, striding off into the heart of camp to round up bodies for work. A soft sigh escapes her when he leaves, the strength and support his presence offered leaving with him.

Clarke notices Raven watching her with suspicion, making her heart stop. If anyone in camp is shrewd enough to uncover the truth of her and Bellamy’s relationship, it’s definitely Raven.

“I’m sure everything’s okay,” she says, hoping to distract the other girl.

Raven purses her lips. “It’s not another storm.”

The sureness in the girl’s voice disturbs her, a sick feeling spreading through her stomach.

“Something’s happened.”

xxxxxxxxx

The fear is driving her crazy; fear for her mother, for her people. But the worst is the not knowing. Raven’s inability to reestablish communication is more than just disappointing, it’s downright agonizing.

But she leaves the mechanic with words of encouragement. Again, if anyone can figure out what the hell is going on, it’s her.

She pauses, suddenly aware and amazed at their luck to have such a brilliant woman helping them. As much pain as it might have caused her personally, Raven coming down here was the one piece of good luck they’ve had so far. Except for maybe finding the guns, her mind supplies.

With a heavy breath, she peers around the dark camp for a distraction, the cheerful teens no longer serving as a source of serenity. As her eyes travel past the fires and bodies she admits the truth, it’s not just a distraction she’s searching for, it’s him.

She needs him. She needs his deep, soothing voice, and his strong, comforting presence. And she smiles with relief when she finds him. He stands coolly as he looks out at the sea of delinquents before him, munching carelessly on an apple.

She tries not to think about his jaw, the way it flexes and clenches with every bite. It does things to her that she’d rather not admit, and never in her life did she ever think a person eating an apple could be so arousing. But this is Bellamy Blake, and she’s been noticing more and more how everything he does has her breath catching and her heart racing.

It could be anything really, little things. Heated glances from across camp that make her simmer, keeping her spirits high for the rest of her difficult day. The subtle yet encouraging touches of his hand on her arm or her shoulder as he walks by.

She’s terrified of what it could mean – what it could become. But even with the fear, she doesn’t want it to end, and as much as she’s given up for others, she knows she deserves the solidarity and companionship that she’s craved since her father’s death.

So she approaches him with an open mind and somewhat open heart - she’s getting there, okay - wanting nothing more than just to speak with him and take as much as he’s willing to give.

“The comms are still dead,” she informs him. “Raven’s trying to get them back on but...”

“Best Unity Day ever,” he states with a wry grin, and she can feel it all the way down to her toes, unable to help the happy chuckle that escapes her lips. _This_ is why she came to him. And she knows that he’s the only one who can give her this.

She takes the time to study the contours of his face, eyes tracing the hard lines around his smiling mouth until they settle on the scar there. It’s even more noticeable in the harsh light of the fire. The imperfection makes her heart skip a beat before it pulls her gaze down to his full lips. They’re chapped, but she knows how soft they are when they graze along her sensitive skin. His high cheekbones are exquisite as the slope of his forehead is stern, complimenting each other handsomely and making her fingers itch to sketch him.

Overall, his wide, masculine features – topped off of course by his messy, black hair – leaves her aching.

And it isn’t until this very moment she notices that he’s watching her just as closely. The depth of intensity in his eyes, more intimate than any of the nights they’ve spent together.

“You should go enjoy yourself while you can,” he says, his voice as tight as her body feels. “The Exodus ship will be here soon, then the party will be over.”

She’s all too aware of this moment, of the decision placed before her and what it could change. It’s a fork in the road and she’s relieved to find that she’s not as concerned about it as she thought she’d be.

With a step forward, her cold fingers leave her pocket, wrapping around his wrist. His skin scorches her fingertips and she marvels at how much warmer he always is than her. He swallows hard, adams apple bobbing, making her clench involuntarily.

“Come with me,” she whispers, fingers sliding down to his hand, threading them with his own.

She takes her time leading him to his tent, making their way around tables of blissfully drunk teens. His body stays close behind her, the breadth of his chest brushing up against her back and shoulders every now and then, their linked hands between them as his other holds firmly onto her hip.

It’s the most affection they’ve ever shown in front of others, and she’ll probably panic about it later, but right now it just feels so damn good.

Once inside, it’s nothing like before. There’s no angry rush, no animalistic recklessness. There’s only a calm laced with a caring need that makes her heart swell almost painfully.

They both hesitate at first, eyes locked and unsure, but then it all disappears the moment he takes a step closer. He pulls at the hem of her shirt, slowly dragging it up her torso, watching her for any sign of reluctance.

And soon everything is just… gone. Clothes, worries, time. Only _they_ exist in this little world within his tent.

With one hand on her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek, he kisses her deeply, leisurely, and without reserve. His tongue brushes against hers with every languid sweep of it into her mouth, and she’s soon running short on oxygen. A lightheaded dizziness takes her back to their time in the bunker, but the taste of him only has her desperate for more.

He eventually breaks away, and she sucks in air as if she were drowning in him – and she supposes that’s an apt description at the moment.

He pushes his thumb under her chin, lifting it as he slides his wet lips underneath, kissing and suckling his way to her throat.

Her eyes roll into the back of her head as she hangs on to him for dear life, fingers gripping his black curls in one hand and holding tightly onto his forearm with the other.

Her head falls back as he peppers kisses down to her chest, bending himself to the side. His hand pushes up her left breast to meet his greedy mouth, and he licks her areola, avoiding the pebbled center until she’s pulling at his hair in frustration.

She expects him to laugh at her, chuckle at how he’s broken her with his ministrations, but his answer sounds just as broken, if not more so than her, turning her legs into jelly and leaving a burning behind her eyes.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m gonna take care of you, I promise.”

And it’s so utterly not Bellamy, the pet name and the pledge, the words so cheesy and ridiculous, but the way he says it with such a hoarse earnestness makes it one of the most heartfelt things she’s ever heard.

She plays with his hair while he plays with her breasts, holding him close as she runs her nails across his scalp. She’s not really holding herself up anymore, most of her weight leaning on him, and she worries for his poor back. So she lifts his head, confusion lighting up his features for only a moment before he straightens out and once again takes her mouth with his own.

He begins to kneel as they kiss, running his hands up her thighs until he squeezes her ass making her squeak. He does laugh at that, soft and gentle, and she breaks their kiss to look down at him.

A truth hits her hard when she realizes that she never would’ve found this, found him, if they’d stayed on the Ark. How many times did she cross his path without even knowing it? How many times was he standing guard at Med Station while she trained, or at a party while she danced? God, if only she would have noticed him. What would life have been like with Bellamy Blake by her side?

“You still think too much,” he says gruffly, making her smile.

“Probably always will.”

He inhales deeply, sliding his large hands around her hips. “Then it’ll be my job to help you stop every now and then. You deserve that.”

She gives him a cheeky grin. “Mmm, and how are you going to do that?”

Eyes never leaving hers, he leans forward, nose skimming her coarse blonde hair as he slowly dips down further. He lifts her left leg, squeezing her calf, the comforting pressure pulling at her heart as the heat in his eyes pulls at her cunt, before placing it on his shoulder.

She’s more than ready, more than prepared, but it’s still shocking, the absolute bliss that shoots through her at the swipe of his tongue. She holds it in though, pressing her lips hard together, only a quick moan making its way up her throat before it’s swiftly pushed back down.

Her hands find purchase in his hair once again, clutching it as her skin ignites, trying to hold on to what little bit of control she still has.

It feels like his mouth is everywhere, first her outer labia, teasing and sucking, before delving right in with another firm lick. And she wants to scream, call out for him, because as close as he is she still needs him closer – she always needs him closer - and she wants to cry at the utter relief it is to have him here, to hold her up as she does the same for him.

She gasps at a rush of hot air, his breath washing over her between every pass of his tongue. She rocks forward a bit, unable to help herself. The sensation is more than she expected, making her eyes shut tight as a shrill whine pushes past her lips, her heel pushing hard into his back.

Her nose flares and her teeth bite hard into her bottom lip, the pain nonexistent. She’s not exactly the strongest person physically, and this holding her weight on one leg thing is proving to be difficult as she tries to keep her balance. But she’s so unaware, she almost loses it, bowing back just a bit too much.

Her eyes fly open, and panic lurches through her as she tries to catch herself.

But there’s no need because _he_ does – of course he does – hastily kneeling up, hand nearly spanning the width of her entire back as he plants it there securely.

They look at each other, first in shock, then, as smiles come to each of them, with amusement. Laughter bubbles up between them and he drops his forehead between her breasts. He slides her leg from his shoulder as she eases the hold in his hair.

“That was definitely a first,” he teases, making her roll her eyes.

“Maybe we should take this to the bed.”

“Agreed.”

He stands, swiftly taking her mouth in another deep, mind-numbing kiss.

She gasps when the back of her knees hit the pallet, shocked that they somehow made it to the other side of the tent without her noticing. They fall together, an unrestrained happiness bursting in her chest as they chuckle into each other’s mouths.

She lifts her knees up high as he fits himself between her thighs, wrapping her fingers around his chin and pulling him down for another kiss. She loves that she never gets tired of kissing him, doesn’t think she ever will. If anything, she craves his lips constantly when they aren’t on her, staring at them when he speaks, or, god help her, when he licks them - which he has a horrible habit of doing.

He’s heavy on her, hot and pulsing right against where she is too, and she can feel it as her wetness begins to leak out, slowly rolling down, making her cant her bottom up. He grunts, halting their kiss to stare down at her, eyes heated and pupils blown.

With a slide of his hips he rubs himself against her, making her squeeze her legs hard as she pushes up, her body seeking out the friction. A few more times and she’s not sure she can take much more, desperate to have him inside her.

“Bellamy, please,” she whispers against his temple. He whines in her ear, and it’s quite possibly both the most affecting and erotic sound she’s ever heard.

“Say it again,” he demands, voice broken.

Their bodies still undulating gently together, she’s eager to give him whatever the hell he wants if he’ll only put them both out of misery. “ _Please_.”

He releases a sharp huff, holding her tighter. “My name,” he grounds out.

She opens her eyes at that. She knows exactly why he wants it, has an inkling of just how far deep his insecurities go and it’s absolutely heart-rending. The poignancy of the moment gets to her, the skyrocketing sensations thrumming through her body only heightening it, and her eyes fill with tears.

Her throat, tight with emotion, seems incapable of speech. But she’s determined to show him how much this means to her – how much _he_ means to her.

“Bellamy,” she chokes out. “Bellamy please, I need you.”

And he stills, breathing hot against her cheek. He lifts himself, eyeing her once more and it’s all just too much. She can’t hold back everything that’s been building inside of her, and a tear slips from the corner of her eye. The embarrassment stretches from her pink cheeks down to her tight belly, and she quickly wipes away the offending drop with a sniff.

His eyes are as soft as they are hard, and full of astonishment.

He places a hand between her breasts, feeling her heartbeat, before sliding it up to her neck and over her jaw, until his thumb caresses her bottom lip. This is the third time he’s done that, and the spark it ignites travels straight to her core. It’s like he’s worshipping the soft skin before he takes it with his own, but when his hand travels back down again she’s slightly disappointed when he doesn’t.

Instead, he takes himself in hand, giving a few tugs, and she can’t help but lift her head to watch, the sight making her throb with need. Licking her lips, her eyes travel back up only to see him watching her, and she places her hands on either side of his face, touching his forehead to hers as he slides himself in.

And it’s just… everything she’s been waiting for, and she’d never be able to stop the smile that stretches at her lips as she drops her head back down.

Hair sticks to her temples and cheeks and she pushes the strands away, keeping her hands on her head as she closes her eyes and just _feels_. And knowing that this is Bellamy making her feel this way, filling her in more ways than one, shatters every piece of her that she’s been trying so hard to protect. But it doesn’t hurt, and instead gives her more relief than she’s had since coming down to this damn planet.

Everything is clear, and sharp, and bright as he rocks into her, keeping a steady rhythm that allows her just enough sense to reason but not enough to speak any of the thoughts that race through her mind.

He pushes up on his arm, and she laments the loss of his skin against hers but is immediately grateful for the magnificent view of his chest, thighs, and face working above her. Their eyes lock then, and she’s unable to turn away, despite how unbelievably penetrating it is. She can only stare back into him and witness the emotions that pass through and fill him as he moves.

All too soon, they’re climbing higher, reaching further and faster, chasing the release that will shatter them both only to mend them together even stronger than they were before.

With one hand clutching the blanket beside her head, the other skims down her torso and begins circling her clit.

Bellamy’s brows furrow as he eyes her fingers, releasing a grunt from deep within his chest. His hand holds harder onto her hip as his own begin working faster, his pace eventually causing him to fall back onto his forearms.

“So fucking beautiful,” he mutters. She’s certain her face would be flushed bright pink if it wasn’t already.

And then it’s there, blasting throughout her body and exploding deep inside. She can faintly hear Bellamy’s moans before he collapses hard on top of her.

Their breaths are in synch, just like everything else they do, and it makes her smile that even in something as simple as breathing they’re partners.

Bellamy lifts himself up, arms trembling slightly, breath hard and heavy.

“That’s nice,” he says gently. And she knits her brows in confusion.

“Your smile. It’s nice.”

And she absolutely hates how giddy she suddenly feels, loathes the bubbly light feeling in her chest that pulls out every happy memory she has and pushes it to the forefront of her brain. Because it is just not fucking fair that he can have that effect on her.

But then looking up into his cheerful face she realizes she obviously has the same effect on him, and she doesn’t care anymore because damn, a smiling Bellamy is beautiful and she’s the one who made it happen.

“Yours too.”

xxxxxxxxx

“I heard Bellamy was looking for you,” Raven says, pulling out another bullet from its casing.

Jasper’s head snaps to the left, panic rising in his chest. “Yeah, no thanks.”

“No thanks?”

“I’d rather not die any sooner than necessary.”

He turns back to his small pile of ammo as Raven stares at him. He tries his best to ignore it, but a glaring Raven is not something you can just ignore. “Okay, you’re sort of creeping me out.”

“I just think you’re being stupid,” she says with a shrug.

“Hey, I am trying to live as long as I can so that I can help you. So… you’re welcome.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think what?”

She sighs dramatically with a roll of her eyes before turning back to him. “I’m assuming Bellamy must be pissed at you for something-”

“It’s not my fault, I-”

“I didn’t say I wanted to know what about,” she interrupts. “I’m just saying, if he’s already pissed at you, don’t you think it’d be better _not_ to make him wait and look all over camp for you? Which will only piss him off more.”

Jasper narrows his eyes, regarding the petite girl before him. “Yeeeeah. I guess that makes sense.”

With a smirk, she tilts her head. “See,” she says, smacking him in the chest. “I just saved your life.”

He wasn’t entirely sure about that.

He spends the next two minutes meandering towards Bellamy’s tent, trying his very hardest not to run in the opposite direction. “Raven likes me,” he tells himself. “She’d never send me to my death. She likes me. I’m not gonna die. I’m not gonna die.”

When he’s finally there, he’s convinced himself that an angry eye roll and stint on latrine duty will be the worst of it. He takes a deep breath, giving himself the last ounce of courage he needs to open the flap and face the ire of Bellamy Blake.

Instead, he finds something both so utterly horrific, and unbelievably beautiful, he can do nothing but stand and stare.

Heart stopped and jaw slowly falling closer and closer to the ground, he almost wishes he’d found a pissy Bellamy, but instead his eyes take in a heaving, sweaty, moaning Clarke.

Her back is arched, her breasts pushed up like some sort of offering. They’re amazing and… and he’s about to lose his shit right here because her head is thrown back in ecstasy with her eyes shut tight. Even worse, jasper notices the hand she has to her mouth, the white of her teeth peeking out from behind her lips, digging into the tender flesh there as she tries to keep quiet.

And he’s never in his life thought he’d see something this erotic that wasn’t from one of the naughty vids he’d found on the Ark. But this is real and… and-

Another, deeper moan and Jasper’s eyes go even wider – if that’s possible – at the sight of a head of black curls that Clarke has fisted within her other hand, and that most certainly belong to Bellamy Blake, buried deep between Clarke’s unbelievably soft looking thighs.

And this is the exact moment when he’s sure he’s going to die, because Bellamy fucking Blake is totally going to kill him.

So he can’t really help it when he releases a fearful – “Oh, crap.”

And just like that, the erotic visual before him crumbles as multiple things happen instantaneously. Clarke gasps loudly, her eyes flying open as she quickly covers her chest.

Bellamy turns, his face more full of shock than outrage – but Jasper’s certain that will come all too soon. He quickly leans over Clarke, his body covering most of hers as his surprise melts into a glare of death – yep, there it is.

“What the fuck, Jasper?”

He really has been trying to make his escape, but his brain only seems to be working at half capacity at the moment, and his feet can only shuffle back in short steps. And all the while, his eyes continue to take in the scene that he will _never_ be able to erase from his memory.

“Get the hell out of here!” Bellamy shouts.

It seems to finally jolt something in his brain. “Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

And his backwards shuffling feet make it out of the tent until he trips over them, falling hard on his backside with a grunt.

He can only sit there in the dirt and stare at the orange and white nylon in front of him as he listens to the muffled voices within, his mind still full of naked Clarke. But even with that horrifyingly stunning visual, he’s only able to think of two words… _oh, crap_.

xxxxxxxxx

Clarke’s blue eyes are wide and overflowing with shame. He’d like to say it doesn’t hurt, but...

He’s suddenly very aware of her arousal covering his lips and chin as her gaze lingers there, and he quickly wipes it off with the back of his hand. She makes her way to the edge of the pallet with his orange blanket covering her naked body.

“Clarke, I’ll talk to him. He won’t say anything.”

She lets out a soft laugh, and as relieved as it makes him feel, he’s also still a little worried, because this is Clarke after all.

“Are we talking about the same Jasper?”

He licks his lips, still tasting her there, and he hesitantly reaches for her hand. He can’t even describe how his heart soars in his chest when she doesn’t pull away, instead only turning to face him. His happiness is a little dampened by the fact that her face is etched with dread.

He knows she’s right. He can threaten all he wants, but this is Jasper and the kid will probably end up blurting out everything before he even realizes what he’s done.

With a deep exhale, he takes a leap, bringing the back of her hand to his lips. “Let me talk to him,” he says against her knuckles. “I’ll figure it out.”

The next few seconds are terrifying as her eyes dart from his face to the hand he holds trapped, her contemplative expression giving nothing away.

Then with a small smile, his world completely changes. “It’s okay. I mean, talk to him, but… whatever happens, it’s okay.” She gives a shrug, it’s a little bit sad, a little bit unsure, but he knows it’s a start.

xxxxxxxxx

“I ju- I don’t- I didn’t-”

“Jasper.”

He can vaguely make out his name as someone calls it, but it sounds so far away.

“Hey, Jasper.”

“I didn’t- I didn’t see anything.”

Suddenly there’s a hand on his arm and he looks up frantically. “I didn’t see anything, I swear!”

A beat of heavy breathing, and he’s finally able to comprehend that it’s Finn, a concerned look on his face.

“Are you okay?”

He’s not really sure how to answer that. Truth be told, he’s not sure he’ll ever be “okay” again. And when Bellamy finds him… No, no he’s definitely not going to be okay.

“Have you seen Clarke?”

Jasper’s eyes go wide as they snap back up. “What?”

“Clarke. Have you seen her?”

“No! No! Of course not! I haven’t seen her or- or- or any part of her!”

Finn only stares, his brows knit together. He nods slowly, full of patience. “Hey, I think it’s time you cut yourself off. No more tonight.” With that, he walks around Jasper, continuing on his way.

Jasper releases a heavy sigh, eyes closing in sweet, sweet relief. Until his brain catches up and he realizes Finn is looking for Clarke. He’s looking for Clarke on the side of camp where Clarke is naked in a tent with Bellamy.

“ _Finn_ ,” he cries, scrambling to the other boy as fast as he can.

“What? What’s wrong?”

And just what the holy hell is he supposed to say to that? “Uh… You’re... You’re looking for Clarke?”

Finn’s brows shoot up as if the answer was obvious. “Yeah… Jasper.”

“Well, she’s… She’s not on that side of camp. I’ve already been over there. So…”

Finn looks back towards Bellamy’s tent. “I’ve already checked every tent on that side. She’s got to be over here.” He turns away again, and the panic in Jasper’s chest explodes.

“Finn _wait_!”

“Jasper, this is important okay," Finn exclaims, exasperated. "I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“No, no, no.” His hand wraps around Finn’s arm, physically holding him back. “SHE’S IN THE DROPSHIP! SHE- SHE’S IN THE DROPSHIP!”

Finn’s worry for his obviously manic friend is all over his face. Probably deciding on whether it was more important to search for Clarke or look after Jasper.

Jasper releases a breath, trying to slow his heart rate and take control of, if not the situation at least himself.

“Yeah, she- she’s in there with Monty. I forgot- I…”

What follows is the longest silence in history, and Jasper’s fairly certain his legs have gone numb. He wonders how bad that is. Then again, perhaps if it _is_ serious that means he’ll drop dead before Bellamy can get to him.

“I probably should’ve checked there first,” Finn muses, and Jasper releases yet another pent up breath of relief. Noticing, Finn tilts his head. “Hey seriously, no more moonshine tonight.”

Jasper shakes his head. “Oh. No. No way. No more for me. I am… I am smashed.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Go get some sleep, buddy.” Finn pats him on the back as he starts towards the dropship, and he knows he only has so much time before spacewalker finds out that the only thing in the dropship is a passed out Miller.

“Oh, crap.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Unity Day chapter. I had no idea that would take so long to get through. But I hope you enjoy it! Apologies for any mistakes, and thank you all for reading!

Jasper races through the camp, only stopping when he runs straight into Harper, both of them hitting the ground with a hard thud.

“Ugh, damn Jasper,” Harper moans, struggling to her elbows. She frowns, a hand pressed to her throbbing head.

“S-sorry, sorry.” He scrambles to his feet, scurrying away without even giving her a second glance.

Monroe takes her arm, gently helping the other girl to stand. They glare at a retreating Jasper pushing his way past delinquents, leaving a trail of angry expletives behind him.

With a snort, Monroe shakes her head. “What a dick.”

He runs till he’s at Bellamy’s tent, halting in his tracks and nearly falling to the ground when Bellamy himself appears from under the flap.

Their eyes meet, both a little surprised to see the other so soon. Jasper’s heart seems to be trying to beat out of his chest as Bellamy cocks his head, glaring at the younger boy with an unhappy expression.

“We need to talk,” Bellamy says in a low voice that makes Jasper’s erratic heart suddenly stop.

He opens his mouth to speak, but now he can’t remember why the hell he was trying to so hard to make it back here in the first place. The flap opens again, Clarke’s blonde head dipping under the nylon before standing tall beside Bellamy.

“Oh god,” Jasper moans, quickly dropping his gaze to his feet, face flushing hot as memories from only moments before begin assaulting him.

He hears Clarke’s irritated scoff and his reason for returning suddenly comes back to him. _Finn_.

Swallowing hard, he closes his eyes, trying to cut off the disturbing images while forcing his half-drunken, shell-shocked brain to work properly. “Um, I thought you- you know, you guys- uh-”

“ _Jasper,_ ” Bellamy snaps.

“Finn! It’s Finn!”

Clarke scowls, arms crossing under her chest, propping up her breasts. Of course that’s exactly where his eyes go, and he hastily shuts them again as he groans internally, trying his best not to puke.

“What about Finn?” Clarke asks.

He doesn’t answer her because her writhing, naked body is still _right there_ , and this is all just a little bit too much for him to take and-

“Jasper, I am wearing clothes,” she hisses under her breath.

His silent groan bubbles up from his chest as he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s never going away-”

“Well it _better_ go away,” Bellamy orders.

He looks from one angry scowl to the other, which reminds him of his parents… which just makes this whole thing ten times worse.

Clarke raises her brows and leans her head forward. “What about Finn?” she repeats.

“He’s- he’s coming here. He’s looking for you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he explodes, the tension finally bursting. “I- I don’t- I was too freaked out by-” The words are lodged in his throat, but his eyes go wide as he motions to Clarke’s chest.

A sad look of humiliation crosses her face, and she self-consciously slides her arms down to her sides. And now he just feels like an asshole.

“ _Jasper._ ” And of course it’s Finn, because this night really couldn’t get any worse.

“Oh, crap.” Without looking behind him, he tries slinking away, desperate to avoid whatever’s about to happen. His getaway is halted however when Bellamy’s hand lands heavy on his shoulder, dragging him back to his side.

“I don’t think so,” Bellamy mutters.

He then sees Finn out of the corner of his eye, jogging up to the three of them, shaggy hair flopping atop his head. “Jasper?” he repeats breathlessly. “Why the hell did you send me to the dropship?”

Just like with Clarke, Jasper’s unable to meet his eyes, pressing his lips together as he focuses on a point beside his head. “Oh, um…”

He can feel Bellamy’s hand on the back of his neck, the steely fingers tightening in their grip. “What the hell do you want, Finn?”

Finn’s eyes snap to Bellamy, his obvious irritation only growing along with his confusion. “I was looking for Clarke.”

“Well, you found her,” Bellamy says, gesturing to Clarke before she can even get a word out. “Now what do you want?”

“Bellamy,” Clarke chastises, head tilted and brows furrowed.

Finn chooses to disregard Bellamy’s presence altogether, desperate eyes drinking in Clarke. “I need to talk to you in private.”

Clarke opens her mouth to answer, but is once again interrupted by the fuming man beside her. “She’s fine right here.”

“ _Bellamy_ ,” she spits out with so much venom it makes _Jasper_ flinch.

He’s astounded to see the same hasn’t happened to Bellamy. Instead, the two lovers seem to be caught up in some sort of silent argument as they stare each other down, jaws clenched and eyes flaming. Out of curiosity, Jasper peeks at Finn, wondering if spacewalker can feel the intensity that seems to be practically radiating between the two.

Then with a work of his jaw, Bellamy rolls his eyes, giving Clarke one last heated look before pulling Jasper away. “Come on,” he rasps as they begin making their way to the center of camp.

Once there, Bellamy gives him a little push as he lets him go. “Alright, we need to talk.”

“Hey, Bellamy listen-”

“Shut up.” It’s neither sharp nor angry, instead the words sound more tired than anything else. But Jasper knows not to tangle with a weary Bellamy, just as much as he knows to avoid a grumpy one.

With a heavy sigh, Bellamy places a hand on his hip, watching Jasper with an exhausted expression, making him squirm and kinda wish he’d just get it over with and _yell_ at him already.

“You don’t talk about this to anyone.”

“Yeah,” Jasper says quickly.

“At all.”

“No, no. No way.”

“That means Monty, Jasper.”

And he stops because… Monty. He tells Monty everything.

“ _Jasper_.”

“No. I- I won’t tell anyone.” Bellamy looks unconvinced and Jasper knows he should probably take every advantage he has right now of the guy’s surprisingly good mood. “I swear,” he says, brows high and voice solemn. “What I saw in that tent… stays in that tent. Promise.”

Bellamy nods after a moment, his stance shifting as his body seems to sag. It’s very un-Bellamy-like, and it almost makes him feel bad for the poor guy. Until-

“What the hell did Finn want?”

And just how in the hell did he get in the middle of this?

“I… don’t know,” he stammers, because honestly, he has no idea what is even going on right now, much less what spacewalker wanted with Clarke.

“C’mon Jasper, what did he say?”

“I told you, I don’t know. He just- he just said that he was looking for Clarke, and that it was important.”

Bellamy eyes him, and Jasper shrugs, not knowing what else to say, hoping that’ll be enough.

“That was it? That was all?”

“Yeah. I swear.”

“Alright,” Bellamy mumbles at the ground, and Jasper practically sighs with relief as he begins to turn away. He doesn’t get far, Bellamy darting out a hand to wrap around his arm. His eyes are as full of worry as they are determination. “Remember, you keep it to yourself,” he repeats quietly.

Jasper nods silently, desperate to get back to his tent and continue to get as drunk as possible, hoping to wipe this entire night from his memory.

xxxxxxxxx

Bellamy tries not to think of anything as he paces from one end of the camp to the other. He tells himself he’s doing well despite the fact that he knows he’s failing epically, Clarke never far from his thoughts. So he just continues watching, keeping an eye on the careless teens that fall over themselves and each other in their sloppy drunkenness.

He’s still not prepared when Fox actually hits her head, knocking it on the edge of a table after tripping over her own feet.

He inspects the cut, deeming it superficial before practically carrying her to her tent – her own legs barely holding her up much less actually helping to move her forward.

He convinces her to lie down, trying not to chuckle as he half-listens to her speak dreamily about how hot Miller is, and if Bellamy thinks the thief likes her too. He then pulls off her shoes, stealing one of the orange blankets from another nearby pallet to cover her shivering body.

After tucking her in, he begins backing away, intent on finding Clarke – surely she and spacewalker have to be done by now – and apologizing for the way he acted. Because he is an asshole, and he’ll absolutely admit it if it gets her to forgive him.

But moving faster than he ever thought possible for an inebriated teenage girl, Fox wraps a hand around Bellamy’s forearm, gently pulling him back down to lean over her. Her eyes are half-closed and she looks peaceful. He’s amazed at how much it affects him, from her small hand on his arm to her barely there smile on her lips. She looks about twelve years old, and his heart aches as he remembers a similar scenario on the Ark, trying to convince a defiant Octavia to close her eyes and sleep.

“Thank you, Bellamy,” she murmurs, before her eyes finally close. He can’t help the slight smile that plays at his lips any more than he can help turning his head away from her awful breath.

“You’re welcome,” he says, voice hoarse. She doesn’t deserve this, he thinks. Being dropped onto an irradiated planet like some sort of lab rat; fighting for her life against barbarians who’d rather run her through with a sword instead of recognizing her for the child that she practically is.

None of them do. And the need to protect them, to care for them, is suddenly so strong it scares him. It scares him because it is the opposite of survival. Putting these kids before himself, is putting himself in danger – putting Octavia in danger. And he’s not sure what’s compelling him to do it, where this drive is coming from, he just knows he _has_ to.

Or maybe it’s just his guilt, he thinks, remembering his conversation with Bree hours earlier.

He exits the tent, a slightly different viewpoint and goal beginning to grow within him.

“Hey, I need to talk to you.”

He turns toward the sound of her voice, heart beating faster. He’s noticed how he’s now unable to keep his eyes off her, whether it be when pressed up against each other or as they work on opposite sides of camp.

He watches her, studies her. He’d be worried that she’d think it creepy if he hadn’t caught her doing the same to him.

He’s about to tease her, lighten the mood before she can begin scolding him for the way he acted earlier, but the look on her face is one of worry and fear, and everything he was even thinking about saying goes right out the damn window.

“Why do I get the feeling that I’m not gonna like what you’re about to tell me?”

She hesitates, lips parted, but no words come out as she gazes up at him. It’s nearly enough to make him lose it, because whatever it is she has to say must be _really_ bad if she’s afraid to tell him. She should know by now that she can tell him anything. At least he hopes so.

“Finn set up a meeting with the Grounders. I’m leaving to go talk to them.”

And there it is. And it’s nothing like he thought it would be, not necessarily as _bad_ as he thought it would be but, yeah there’s no way that’s happening.

“No.” It’s firm and resolute. But Clarke Griffin isn’t just any person too afraid to argue against Bellamy Blake, and he knows it. And if he’s honest, it’s one of the many things he’d found so fascinating in the beginning.

“Bellamy-”

“I said, no.”

She cocks her head, one brow raised sharply. “Well, it’s a good thing that I don’t take orders from you, because I’m going.”

His heart is racing in his chest as his stomach seems to twist tighter and tighter.

His first inclination is to tell her that he really doesn’t care what she thinks, that there was no way in hell he was going to let her do this. But he knows that that’s not the way to go about this – it’s not the way to keep her safe. This is Clarke, and like Octavia, she was head-strong and self-confident. Traits that he was proud of both of them for possessing, even if they did seem to want to send him to an early grave.

But she’d do this whether he told her she could or not. But that doesn’t mean he can’t talk her out of it.

“Because you figure that impaling people on spears is code for ‘let’s be friends’? Have you lost your damn mind?”

“I think it might be worth a shot.”

His vision is narrowing and his mind has gone numb – the only thing going around and around in there is how he _can’t_ let her do this.

“I mean… we do have to live with these people.”

She makes sense – as always – but he just can’t accept it. He cannot let her do something that will most likely end in her death. He doesn’t know when the hell that happened, exactly – when her life became more important than his own. But it is, and if he wants to live, she _has_ to.

But short of chaining her to the dropship, he’s not sure what else there is to do.

He looks down, unable to meet her eyes, knowing just how terrified and desperate his own probably are. “They’ll probably gut you, string you up as a warning.” And oh god, just the image of that makes it hard to breathe. These people are violent and barbarous, and of all the risky things they’ve done on the ground, this has got to be the most dangerous. And she’s walking right into it.

“That’s why I’m here. I need you to follow us – be our backup.”

He doesn’t tell her that, that was going to happen no matter what. That if she was determined to go through with this insane plan, then there was no way he was letting her do it alone.

But now he wonders, if spacewalker set up these peace talks, why would he be okay with Bellamy following them? Unless he didn’t know, unless this is _Clarke_ asking because she trusts him and she needs him.

“Does Finn know about this?”

“Finn doesn’t need know.” She looks almost guilty at the admission, and he’s curious just how far their conversation went.

“Does he know about us?”

She waits a beat, lips pressed together as she hides her hands deep in her pockets. “I don’t think so.”

She turns then, walking away and leaving him there to contemplate all the ways this could go horribly, horribly wrong.

And then she stops. “Bellamy. Bring guns.”

As if he wouldn’t.

xxxxxxxxx

He kneels down, grabbing the handful of jobi nuts Clarke dropped. They were still warm from hiding in her pocket.

Raven shifts, her nervous energy starting to infect him. “What the hell convinced him to do this?”

“I don’t know,” Bellamy says, standing and heading out once more. “He’s you’re boyfriend.”

His contempt for Finn practically oozes out with the word. As far as Bellamy’s concerned, spacewalker doesn’t deserve Raven any more than he deserves Clarke. Even though both women seemed to have a soft spot for the loser. Then again, what, or who, they wanted was never his call to make.

But he refuses to think about that now. He needs to keep his focus, keep sharp. Clarke’s life, and maybe many others, depended on it.

xxxxxxxxx

Finn taking Clarke’s hand rouses his bitterness almost as much as seeing Octavia with that grounder.

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw as he looks through his scope.

Clarke begins walking toward the grounder in the middle of the bridge, and he can practically _feel_ her anxiety with every step she takes. Or maybe it’s just his own. He wishes more than anything he could be there with her – do this for her. But watching her swallow down her fear and stand tall as she strides forward with confidence, fills him with so much damn _pride_.

She can do this. If anyone can, she can.

After that, he keeps his eyes on the woman. She looks dangerous – lethal, with her painted face and cold expression.

“Grounder princess looks pissed.”

She does, and he knows that means that Clarke, in all her strength, is standing her ground, explaining their views, and perhaps informing these grounders that there is more to fear than just a handful of stupid teens.

“Our princess has that effect.”

The talk seems to go well – as well as it can anyway – and in the end he sees Clarke as she swallows hard, nodding firmly towards the grounder princess before stiffly turning away. He can tell she’s trying not to look behind her, trying not to appear weak while worrying about a knife to the back.

But as she walks away, her eyes cut to the right, just a flick down below to the forest floor where he hides with Raven, and she sees him. Her breath comes a little easier, her walk a little lighter. She feels safer because of him. She trusts him to protect her. And he can’t even explain the feeling that it gives him to see it in such a physical form.

He keeps watch until the grounders ride away, their horses disappearing into the trees.

“C’mon,” he says gruffly to Raven behind him.

xxxxxxxxx

Clarke has her hands planted firmly on her hips, pacing slowly while watching her feet, trying her hardest to ignore Finn’s questioning stare.

“What are we waiting for?” he finally asks.

Her pacing stops as she bites her bottom lip. She’s being a coward refusing to answer him, and she knows it. But he’ll get his answer soon enough.

Sooner than she thinks when she hears the rustle of trees to their right, causing both Finn and Octavia to startle as they take steps back. But their sighs of relief are practically audible once Bellamy and Raven emerge from the shadows.

Despite his relief, Finn quickly catches on.

“Raven? What the hell are you doing here?”

Raven raises her brows with a sassy tilt of her head. “Making sure you didn’t do anything stupid.”

Finn’s eyes travel slowly to Clarke, full of disappointment. “ _You_ told them to come here?”

She doesn’t say anything – doesn’t know what to say, really. Nothing happened, thank god. But that doesn’t mean that it couldn’t have. She doesn’t trust these grounders as far as she can throw them, and walking into a “truce meeting” with them, without any sort of backup, would’ve been suicidal.

And in all honesty, just knowing Bellamy was there had been immensely helpful for her confidence.

“Clarke, I told you, _no guns_.”

“Hey,” Bellamy starts with a step forward, but is quickly cut off by Raven.

“Why didn’t you tell _me_ what you were up to?!”

“I tried, but you were too busy making bullets for you guns!”

Bellamy’s had just about enough of Finn’s sanctimonious ass, glaring at him from beneath dark brows. “You’re lucky she brought that. They could’ve killed you, Finn.”

“But they didn’t!” Finn shouts, face red and eyes wide. “They want peace, and you almost ruined it!”

“We didn’t _ruin_ _anything_.” He turns around fully, stepping up to the other man. “Wanting peace with these people is one thing, but trusting them completely with your life – with Octavia and Clarke’s lives…”

He has so much he wants to say, so much he wants to knock this asshole over the head with about how reckless and so unbelievably _stupid_ he’s being. But all the words are caught up in his throat, the rage he feels for having to watch Clarke be forced into that position, making them stick.

So instead he glowers – hoping spacewalker will get then hint that if he wants to survive he should probably just stay the hell away from him.

“I came here on my own.”

Bellamy’s head whips around, Octavia stepping forward.

“I’ll deal with you later.”

Octavia’s annoyance turns to outrage. “You’ll _deal_ with me?”

“Okay, enough!” Clarke barks, hands up and fingers splayed as her eyes stop at every one of them. “We can all argue about this later. But we need to get back. It’s already dark.”

They all hesitate, each one waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, Octavia huffs, stomping through the trees, followed by Finn and then Raven.

Clarke can’t move – can’t do anything except for stare into Bellamy’s eyes. She’d been so scared – for herself, for her people. What if she’d said the wrong thing – did the wrong thing. Their blood would’ve been on her hands.

But then she saw him, standing at the ready with his rifle, prepared to use it. Just like she knew he would be. And then she knew that it was going to be okay.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

He can only nod, too afraid to say anything lest the emotions he feels welling up inside, burst out. She smiles softly, and he returns it before she starts her way back to camp, him trailing right behind and quickly coming up beside her. Exactly where he’s supposed to be.

xxxxxxxxx

She can literally feel a weight evaporating from her the moment she sees the flickering flames of camp in the distance. She smiles with relief, turning to Bellamy.

“We made it.”

He knows she means more than just getting back to camp.

“So she said they wouldn’t attack?”

She shrugs. “She said she’ll speak to their Commander,” she sighs. “But it sounded pretty positive. I mean, as positive as you can be with people like that.”

He wonders if they can trust them? If they can start to breathe a little easier perhaps? But he already knows the answer – there’s no way in hell he’ll ever be able to do that.

“Especially after I told them about the Ark, and how it was a very real possibility that they could be wiped out if they don’t back off.”

He notices the smug smile, as small as it is, when it tugs at the corner of her lips – and he gives her one of his own.

“ _Clarke_ , you really have become a badass.”

She huffs with a roll of her eyes, but her smile only grows. “I just threatened a people with annihilation. That’s not badass.”

“It is to me. You didn’t just threaten annihilation, you protected your people. You protected us - these kids. And you did a hell of a lot better than I could’ve done.”

She tilts her head, a teasing expression lighting up her face. “I’m sure you would’ve done great.”

“Yeah, right after I shot that bitch and they declared war on all of us.”

Her eyes travel down, and she takes a step closer before looking back up. “I need you,” she says softly.

He blinks, trying to come up with something heartfelt to say. Anything, really. But all he can think of is – “And I need _you_.”

But it’s obviously enough, her blue eyes sparkling in the firelight and her grin becoming uncontrollable with pleasure, even as she tries in earnest to hold it back – much to his amusement.

He knows she’s blushing. Not that he can see it in this poor light of a few crackling torches, but he knows if the sun were out, her cheeks would be pink against her fair skin. It makes him ache to kiss her – feel the warmth of blood rushing up beneath her skin.

He brushes his knuckles softly across her cheeks. A barely there touch that makes him want so much more.

And he’s about to give in, drawing closer to her as she does the same, when a sound interrupts them. A sound that reminds him an awful lot of the dropship as it broke through the atmosphere.

Their focus now on the sky, they see a light, small but bright as it falls fast towards the Earth.

“The Exodus Ship? Your mom’s early.”

He feels it in the pit of his stomach, a flash of fear for what’s to come. He may not trust the Grounders, but he doesn’t exactly trust his own people much more. He hopes things will be different on the ground – hopes that they can build a civilization that doesn’t require such a ruthless, draconian system of laws.

But his anxiety eases some when he hears Clarke’s surprise huff of laughter. Her smile is unlike any he’s ever seen before – full and bright and so… _radiant._ It’s then that he knows, no matter what happens after their people come down, it’ll be worth it – it’ll be _different_ than before, because he has her.

Then everything changes in a second. Her smile practically melts away as her eyes fill with fear.

“Wait. It’s too fast. No parachute. Something’s wrong.”

They watch helplessly as the only hope for their people continues to plummet closer and closer to the ground, the bottom turning a bright orange as it heats with its descent, flames licking the sides.

And then it’s gone. A bright light flashing before the explosion bursts into the sky, high enough for them to see over the mountains.

He’s still – his heart dropping in shock. Of all the things to happen, this was definitely not what he’d expected.

Clarke begins to crumple, and he tries to catch her before she hits the ground, but he takes too long, almost as if he’s moving in slow motion. He’s only able to hold her arms as she looks beyond the trees in horror, her body trembling.

He doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what to say. Her mother just died… their _people_ just died, and there’s absolutely no words that could ever make it better. So he remains quiet, holding her as he kneels beside her, holding her as tears begin to fall and sobs begin to wrack her body.

Her anguish is quiet but deep. She falls forward towards the dirt, but Bellamy’s arms keep her up.

They stay like that until he begins lifting her, strong arm wrapped around her as they make their way through camp.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she hopes no one sees, hopes no one notices as she falls apart while Bellamy pulls her along past the thrum of teens that surround them.

She doesn’t know what’s happening – can’t decipher anything – because her mom is dead. Her dad, Wells, and now her mom. And it’s not fair. What did she ever do in this life to deserve all of this? But even in her despair, she’s logical enough to know how ridiculous that sounds.

Life isn’t fair, and this has nothing to do with her.

She only vaguely notices when Bellamy lays her down, relieving her of her shoes before lying down beside her. He pulls her close, one arm wrapping around her middle and the other across her shoulders and collar bone. Her back is pressed tightly to his chest, and it almost feels like he can hold her together like this – with just the force of his will, and strength of his body – he can keep her from shattering.

She doesn’t hear her cries, but she feels them, tearing up from her chest and past her lips. She must sound awful.

She can hear Bellamy though, his steady breath and soothing words between presses of his lips against her ear.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, over and over again. “I’m so sorry.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, three days later. I'm rather impressed with myself :) Also, this chapter was just extraordinarily easy to write. I've no idea why. And look at that, the smut has returned. Who knew that was coming back? Certainly not me.
> 
> So anyways, as always, a big thank you to each and every one of you. And I hope you enjoy!

Her eyes feel heavy – weak. Her mind a confused and muddled mess. As she slowly takes in her surroundings her disorientation begins to melt away.

Then it hits her.

Her mother is dead. Her mother is dead, and the last words she spoke to her were full of anger and resentment.

And it feels like her world shatters all over again. Her heart. Her soul. She’s suffocating in her sadness and she suddenly can’t breathe.

“Hey.” The breathy voice is soft and gentle, overflowing with worry.

Bellamy.

He rolls her back a bit, just enough to loom over her, his big brown eyes gazing solemnly into her own.

She knows she must look disgusting, blotchy face, swollen eyes, tear tracks and dirt. But what she sees on his face is anything _but_ disgust. Instead, it’s filled with so much concern – so much adoration – she almost can’t handle it.

She licks her cracked lips as tears slide silently from the corners of her eyes. “I was really happy,” she whispers, voice brittle and broken. It feels as if she speaks any louder _she_ would break. “I was really happy when I saw the ship.”

She has more to say, but she collapses in on herself, the feelings – so sharp, yet so blunt – too much to handle. Her hand flies up to hide herself, but Bellamy pushes it away, kissing her wet eyelids.

His lips then brush her forehead, a steady, light pressure against her furrowed brow as he holds her. Grief courses through her in a revolting mess of sniffling, and coughing and weeping. She wants to push him away – she knows she’s drenching his shirt in a host of bodily fluids – but she can’t do it. Instead, both her hands are wrapped around his bicep, nails digging in and clinging to him like a lifeline.

Eventually it passes, not the pain, just the high-speed train of emotions for the moment, only disturbed by little hiccups.

Bellamy presses the side of his face to hers. He’s so _warm_ and _comforting_. It’s almost like with him near, she can breathe easier.

“I was so angry,” she says. “I hated her.”

He doesn’t respond, just letting her speak.

“I _hated_ her for her part in my dad’s death. But… I knew that wasn’t true.” Tears are beginning to well up once more, but she has to get this out before it overtakes her again, making her heart jump a cliff of sadness for what feels like the hundredth time now. “It wasn’t true, because I’d forgiven her already. I forgave her and I never even told her.”

One of Bellamy’s hands rests on the top of her head, his thumb stroking back the hair along her widows peak. “Clarke…”

“She died thinking I _hated_ her.” She feels a burst of hysteria coming over her, but she tries her best to tamp it down. “Bellamy-”

“No,” he says softly. “She knew, Clarke. She knew you loved her. She knew you always did.”

“How?”

He doesn’t say anything at first, only shaking his head sadly. Then- “Cause she’s your mother. She may have thought you were angry at her, but she always knew you loved her. And because you’re you, and you love so fiercely. I promise you, she knew.”

A deep, shuddering breath wracks through her body. He’s broken her in the best way possible. Saying everything she needed to hear. Whether it’s true or not.

Eventually she stops crying, but she never stops clutching him.

xxxxxxxxx

When she wakes again, dawn is only just breaking, dark blue light seeping into the tent, leaving everything in a strange, otherworldly haze between night and day.

At some point, Bellamy made his way behind her again, strong arm braced just beneath her breasts. She plays with his arm hair, finding his veins and tracing a finger up and down them. He breathes her in, his breath ghosting across her ear, making her shiver.

He shifts, pressing harder against her as he makes himself comfortable, leaving a sweet, lazy kiss behind her ear.

And it begins building, the heat and desire he always stirs within her. She feels guilty at first. Her mother just died. She’s mourning – grieving. Lost in a sea of sadness. But the sensations he’s arousing within her are so addictive in their ability to make her feel something _else_. Feel something _good_.

She pushes back slightly, just enough for him to feel the pressure of her ass along his length.

He’s hard – has been since she woke – but she hadn’t thought anything of it at first, her rational mind reminding her it was normal – a healthy response during his sleep cycle. But the more she wakes, the more the feel of him has her throbbing with need.

He hastily slips his arm from around her, heavy hand landing firmly on her hip and ceasing her leisurely, rhythmic movement against him.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he warns lightly.

She sets her hand atop his.

“Maybe I want to.”

She caresses him, her fingers skimming along his own thicker ones, and he loosens his hold, giving her some leeway to rotate her hips slightly.

“Clarke-” It almost sounds like he’s begging. Whether he’s begging her to stop or continue, she’s not entirely sure.

“I want this,” she says, sad yet earnest. “Please, Bellamy. I need you.” His grip loosens even more, and she takes the opportunity to grind back into him, making him huff into her hair as he simultaneously pulls her harder against himself while pressing into her.

A short cry escapes her with the shock of it, though she quickly recovers, her hand leaving his, coming up and around his head, fingers sliding through his hair.

“Are you sure,” he asks hoarsely, hips moving in synch with hers.

She nods, breathless with want and throat tight with emotions.

He kisses her long and hard in the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, hand roving from her hip to her breast, squeezing gently, then back down to her soft belly, tracing shapes lightly with his fingertips just above the waistband of her pants.

They stay like that, both panting and moving together until he stops. He pulls away from her, and she leans back to watch him remove his shirt before doing the same with his pants. She quickly follows suit, slipping off her clothes and lying on her side, waiting with closed eyes and a full heart for him to return to her – to hold her – make her feel whole.

When he does it’s a jolt to her senses, his skin smoothing along hers, cradling her from behind. She turns her head, eyes meeting his as he gazes down, holding himself up on his forearm.

They’re both quiet for a long minute, until he finally breaks the thick, yet pleasant silence.

“I care about you.” He sounds so vulnerable as he speaks, it breaks her heart. “I know you didn’t want this to be anything else, but…” He swallows hard.

“I know. It’s okay.” She offers him a small, reassuring smile. “I care about you, too.”

He doesn’t return her smile like she thought he would, but his eyes… his eyes turn so soft, drowning her in such a gentleness that her chest squeezes tight while her mind can only think of one word – _home_. He feels like her home. Without her mother, without her father, without the Ark – he is her home, and he’s all she has left. It’s a terrifying realization. And she’s suddenly seized with an urge to keep him safe at all costs.

She raises her hand awkwardly behind his head, pushing him down to meet her lips. It’s delicate and tender, and he lays himself down fully beside her, wide chest pressed tight against her back.

His hands are everywhere, one holding her head as his thumb strokes her hair, and the other roaming over her body. It dances across her stomach and glides up to her chest, rough palms scratching her nipples making them harden and tingle as he fondles the generous flesh of her breasts.

His kiss becomes demanding, tongue seeking entrance into her mouth, which she quickly gives. Her belly clenches when he touches her tongue, licking and massaging, making her moan. He rubs her thigh slowly before finally reaching around and cupping her sex, and her breath hitches.

Her head drops down, turning away from him with eyes closed, needing a moment to breathe and take in all that’s happening – enjoy the rush and anticipation racing through her body.

He teases her, caressing her vulva, calloused fingers firm yet light as he touches her. He curls his middle finger inside, massaging the entrance of her walls before spreading her arousal around her clit.

“Bellamy,” she whimpers quietly, her hand fisting in the blankets.

He answers her with a groan, face buried in her neck. His body dips down slightly, and a gasp tears through her throat when she feels the length of him sliding between her pussy lips without penetrating, the head of him gliding against her clit with every slow, deliberate push forward.

A few strokes more and she’s a panting mess, clutching her walls, eager for him to slip inside.

Finally, he lifts her thigh, holding the weight of it as he pushes in.

Her nose flares and she grinds her teeth, unsuccessfully holding back a groan that mixes sensually with his. The hand on her head comes around her neck and across her collar bone, hugging her closer to his chest. Her hand flies to his forearm, fingers gripping tightly as she leans her head back. Their eyes meet for a few, intense moments – a few, easy thrusts – until she has to close them.

He kisses her ear, her jaw, her cheek, her temple, and she releases a quiet cry, eyes burning. He squeezes her thigh and shoulder. Both touches are so simple yet so full of affection, they elevate her passion to new heights. She’s amazed at it, the depth of it. Now that she’s given in, it’s unlike anything she’s ever imagined, even as a child, daydreaming about that person she’d one day meet – _her_ person.

She can’t put a name to it – not yet – she’s not ready, but she will be someday. She can’t wait to see his face – his eyes – when the words fall from her lips.

His pace is slow – thorough – his rocking, gentle and measured. She feels every push and pull of him in every nerve of her body, sparking to life with flashes and flares. She’ll catch fire, her embers lighting and burning bright – he’ll make sure of it – but not too soon, not before she’s ready.

Knuckles sweeping the underside of his jaw, she pleads with her eyes, and his own flutter closed, giving her what she wants – lips brushing chastely before she pecks at the corner once, twice. He exhales heavily through his nose, causing a small smile to tug at her lips momentarily before she buries her fingers in his hair, nails scratching the nape of his neck.

“You have no idea,” he rasps against her skin. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She nuzzles his cheek, breathing hotly across his face. “The same thing you do to me.”

A moan escapes his throat as he squeezes her thigh hard. “Fuck, Clarke.”

She loves that word in his mouth, loves the way he grunts it out, thick and taut, and tangled with her name.

She knows what he likes, too. “Bellamy,” she breathes, tremulously. And his hold on her is a little tighter, pulling her a little closer.

The hairs of his thighs brush the back of hers, coarse and irritating against her smooth skin, stimulating in its difference, making her toes curl and her muscles tense.

She’s hyperaware of him, his muscled chest slick with sweat against her back, firm abdomen and thick thighs rubbing her ass with every drive forward he makes. His virility is arousing and heady, her blood pumping hard in her veins as her senses fill with him, his throaty grunts and raspy breaths; the tangy, earthy scent of him that she can taste on her tongue.

She tries to move, speed up their pace to match with her speeding desire, but he grabs her hip, holding firm as he continues the leisurely pump of his own.

“Please,” she mewls.

Bellamy dips his head, nose and lips brushing the soft skin around her ear. “It’ll be good like this.” He mutters in a strained, gruff tone. “I promise. I’ll make it good.”

There’s a beat of silence as their eyes lock, his cock still moving within her and her muscles clenching him every time he pulls back.

She nods. She trusts him – believes him. He will make her explode and she’s absolutely desperate and panting for it.

With a lingering kiss to her cheek, his lips travel to her jaw, her neck, her shoulder, where he bites softly at the flesh there, tongue swiping after.

It feels like it lasts forever, Bellamy continuing his deep, smooth pace. Large hands holding firm and keeping control as he possess every inch of her. And every minute she climbs higher, her body twisting tighter, her lust addled brain clouding more.

She’s too far gone to notice when his hand slips from her hip, fingers skimming down until he’s there, circling and rubbing, making her throw her head back in bliss, her fingers tangling with the ones he has on her shoulder.

Jaw practically unhinged, her moans are loud, and breathy; rising in pitch as she rises in pleasure. Till finally, she’s untethered, free and bright and out of body.

He doesn’t stop though, riding out the waves of her, the pulsing heat around him squeezing tight and unforgiving like a heartbeat around his cock. He rolls fully atop her, her body loose and lethargic as he maneuvers her.

Gradually, she returns to her senses, his harsh breath in her ear as his body slides above her. She tries to push against him, work with him, eager to feel him fall apart around her, but he’s so heavy she can barely move.

His hips snap faster, and she spreads her legs further.

His groans travel from deep within his chest, rumbling and vibrating against her back, his cries haggard and broken. She thinks he’s gone, mind numb as he seeks out his relief from her body, so she squeaks with surprise at the touch of his fingers, rough pads circling her still engorged and oversensitive clit. It almost hurts, too much too soon, but it feels so damn good she doesn’t pull away, and the jolt that runs through her is not something she wasn't expecting to happen.

She seizes around him again when she feels his release shooting hot through her, filling her with a lightness that eases the sting currently piercing her heart.

His breath is rapid and full, chest pushing her down into the pallet with every inhale. He rolls off her quickly though, a grunt of apology sounding in her ear.

His right arm is still trapped under her neck, his embrace having never ended during their copulation, and she kisses the smooth underside of his arm with tiny, grateful pecks, fingers tracing mindlessly along the length of it before wrapping around _his_ solid fingers with a squeeze he reciprocates.

She turns her head against the blankets to look at him, only to find him watching her already.

“Thank you.”

He blinks, swallowing hard, and she sighs, because his inability to accept gratitude can be downright frustrating sometimes. With the slide of her upper body, she comes close, eyes tracing his features. His expression appears uncomfortable – guarded.

And she wants to say it – wants to tell him how much he’s grown on her, how much he _means_ to her. But she still can’t, the words stuck in her throat, and she thinks they probably deserve one another, their invisible wounds and scars complementing each other in such a way that neither can fully express or accept just how much the other truly means to them.

So instead, she kisses him, short and sweet, before lying her head on his chest, his arm coming up to hold her, fingers caressing her back. And it’s more than enough for now.

xxxxxxxxx

His worried eyes study her as she tugs on her boots, quickly and efficiently tying the laces – double knots, as always.

She hadn’t said much since they began to dress. With her tears dry, and her sorrow having seemingly evaporated in wake of the Clarke they all knew best – the one who put everyone and everything else before herself – she now wore a mask of a determined woman.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says carefully, desperate to convince her to rethink her decision.

She freezes, looking up at him. “I do.”

And he nods, because he understands, even if he doesn’t approve.

She must see it though. “I’m fine,” she claims, not at all convincing with her trembling voice. “I’ll be fine.”

xxxxxxxxx

The crash site is massive. Far larger than it’d appeared the night before. The extent of the damage, flattened trees and scorched earth, is a startling sight after they make it over the hill. Metal debris is strewn all around, grey smoke and a strong scent of fuel waft in the air. But the worst part is the bodies, one piece here, another there; charred and unrecognizable.

It’s a grisly and disturbing scene, and Bellamy’s concerned gaze follows Clarke as she wanders around it with a blank face.

“Clarke shouldn’t be out here,” Finn states.

For once, Bellamy actually agrees with him.

Raven comes up beside him. “Her mom was on this ship. She’s looking for answers. You wanna help her, find me the black box, hard drive, anything that would explain why this ship crashed.”

Bellamy sighs, holding his rifle a little tighter, tearing his eyes from Clarke, back to the tree line. He needs to let them do their work while he does his own. It certainly won’t help them if they’re attacked as they search through the wreckage.

“Stay sharp,” he orders his guys. “Grounders could retaliate at any moment.”

“They won’t,” Finn says, as if offended. “They said-”

“They _said_ they’d talk to their Commander,” Bellamy interrupts. “Doesn’t mean he’ll decide not to.” The debris crunches underfoot, and he does his best not to look down. “You might be willing to trust these people with your life, but I’m not risking everyone else’s.”

“Sure, because walking around with a bunch of guns that barely work will save us. Never mind that it makes us appear even more hostile to a group we’re trying to make peace with.”

Bellamy steps closer. “ _You’re_ trying to make peace with. These people–”

“You see, that’s the problem. You don’t even want it.” Finn shakes his head in disgust. “You just want to shoot them all with your gun.”

“You’re damn right. Have you forgotten what they did to Diggs and Roma? Or how about Jasper?”

Finn stays silent at first, eyes locking with Bellamy. “No, I haven’t forgotten. Just like I haven’t forgotten how you threatened to kill him.”

Bellamy blinks, inhaling through his nose as he leans back. Finn’s words are a blow. His chest constricts and he clenches his jaw.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he says, low and rough. “We need to be ready if they do come. We’re on our own now.”

“Clarke, _stop_!”

His head whips to Raven before quickly looking to Clarke, his heart beating with a sudden fierceness until he sees she’s fine.

Raven jogs up to her, and the two speak quietly while he watches in curiosity. “Fire in the hole!” the mechanic hollers after turning away.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t both equally impressed and terrified by the girl after she manages to create an explosion twice the height of him. The heat of it, intense on his face until it quickly burns out. He’d also be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted, her lean body and sharp mind, enticing.

He remembers the knife she’d immediately pulled on him after he’d pushed her up against a tree, threatening her life. She hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t trembled in fear, instead she’d continued to demand for her radio, practically snarling in his face.

“We need to clear the area!”

He’s more than willing to trust that she knows what she’s talking about, refusing to take any unnecessary chances. "Okay, then."

He shouts out orders, a newly formed purpose having started within him after watching their only hope literally crash and burn.

No one was coming down. They were all alone. And now, they always would be.

It didn’t matter if the Grounders were attacking or not, because either way, they _needed_ guidance if they were going to live. Then needed management – control.

Clarke was right. ‘Whatever the hell we want’ just wouldn’t cut if they wanted to survive down here. It was time to stop being childish and start being responsible.  

She keeps her blue eyes forward as they begin making their way back, her body tight and her expression disappointed. He wants to go to her, take her hand or set his on the small of her back, just offer her some comfort. But beside the fact that he’s the one leading this group, he’s honestly just not sure where she stands.

Their night together – or morning, rather – had been passionate and powerful, more than he’d ever felt before. She seemed to feel the same, opening up to him and relieving him of his fears, admitting that what was happening between them was no longer just sex.

She _felt_ something for him, and every time he thought about it he almost couldn’t help the grin that crept across his face.

But the morning after had been different – stilted – as she prepared to search through the carnage of her mother’s crash site.

He knows the last thing she wants is to become the talk of camp.

So he keeps his distance, eyes flitting to her every now and then with concern until they finally return.

“Bellamy!” Harper calls once they make it past the gate, her eyes wide and face anxious.

And he knows that whatever he’s about to hear, he’s most certainly not going to be happy with.

“Murphy’s back.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is part 1 of I am Become Death. Yes, another episode in parts, I have a feeling that's going to start happening a lot. This is also nearly exactly like the episode, so I'm sorry if it turns out boring, but I hope you can enjoy the changed Bellarke scenes at least.
> 
> Thank you all very much for reading! Sorry for any mistakes, and enjoy!

Their eyes meet, Clarke’s filled with confusion and Bellamy’s with anger. Both of them mixed with shock.

The moment only lasts for a quick second before Bellamy strides to the dropship, becoming more and more furious with every heavy step. He hears her voice somewhere behind him, calling out to him, but it’s lost in the tangled web of his red vision and clouded mind.

He pushes past the parachute, stomping in. “Where is he?”

The sight of a cowering, bloody Murphy makes him slow to a stop.

He’s surprised to find his hate cooling, replaced by the smallest ounce of pity. Then he remembers Charlotte – the lonely little girl with a sad smile, chased relentlessly by demons – and his fury reignites tenfold.

“Everyone but Connor and Derek out,” Bellamy demands.

The crowd of teens are motionless, gawking at the boy on the floor and the gory picture he paints.

“ _Now!_ ”

They migrate out of the dropship, making it slightly easier to breathe in the small space.

“He claims he was with the Grounders.”

“We caught him trying to sneak back into camp.”

“I wasn’t sneaking.” Murphy’s quivering voice is small and pathetic. “I was running from the Grounders.” 

Bellamy glares, telling himself he doesn’t really care one way or another. “Anyone _see_ Grounders?”

He looks from Connor to Derek, both boys shaking their heads. And that’s all he needs, his hate flaring as he raises his rifle. “Well in that case.”

Finn quickly pushes down the gun, standing between it and Murphy. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“We were clear what would happen if he came back,” Bellamy says without remorse.

“What if this is a message from the Commander? A show of good faith?”

Bellamy glares at him like he’s crazy. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“We just made peace with the Grounders. What if bringing Murphy here was them making peace with us?”

It’s definitely a possibility, as much as he hates to admit it. But in the end, it still doesn’t matter. “Then they won’t care what we do with him.” He raises his rifle once more, only for Finn to _again_ step in the way.

“No,” Finn argues. “If he was with the Grounders then he knows things that could help us.”

Bellamy clenches his jaw. As far as he’s concerned, Murphy is a murderer, plain and simple. He deserves to die, and Bellamy is more than willing to carry out the sentence.

“Help us? We hanged him, we banished him, and now we’re gonna kill him.” He turns back to Murphy, already done with Finn and his idiocy. “Get the hell outta my way.”

“No. Finn’s right.” Clarke’s words snap him out of his wrathful haze, and for the first time he realizes that she’s there. He stills at the touch of her hand, firm on his arm as she looks up at him, making him drop his weapon to his side.

He’ll never admit it, but it feels like a betrayal, piercing sharp and quick in his chest as jealousy begins growing in the pit of his stomach.

“Like hell he is,” he shouts as she kneels before Murphy. “ _Clarke_ , think about Charlotte.”

“I _am_ thinking about her. But what happened was as much our fault as his.”

Murphy, Charlotte. That situation had been a mess. One he’d become partially responsible for the moment he kicked that stool out from under Murphy, but he tries not to let the guilt of what happened cloud his judgement.

“He’s not lying. His fingernails were torn off. They tortured him.”

Again, that small amount of pity starts budding within him.

“You and the Grounders should compare notes,” Finn remarks snidely.

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “The Grounders know we’re at war.”

“ _Were_ at war,” Finn emphasizes.

He just can’t believe this kid’s refusal to see the truth of their situation, of the _danger_ these people pose.

He lurches forward, pointing to Murphy as he glares at Finn, infuriated beyond belief by his constant denial that’s putting them all in danger.

“Do you _see_ him?” he thunders. “What they did to him? Why do you think he was tortured, Finn?” His head whips around to Murphy. “What did you tell them about us?”

The silence is heavy – terrifying. “Everything,” Murphy eventually mutters, the word sending out a shockwave of horror through them all.

Finn shakes his head. “No. This doesn’t make any sense.”

And Bellamy’s rage is absolutely crossing the point of no return, fueled by fear of what was now most certainly coming their way. The ”peace” agreed upon at the bridge had been nothing more than a distraction, something to keep them all busy, to keep them from preparing for the fight ahead.

He takes a threatening step toward Finn, unable to comprehend anything anymore, the blood rushing hot in his veins and-

Clarke’s hand is on his chest, pushing him back gently. He can’t help but look down into her pleading eyes, their dark blue iris’ swimming with a strength that eases his fear – if only a little.

“Why would they release him, only for him to come here and tell us what he knows?” Finn asks. “This isn’t about war,” he insists. “It’s about peace.”

Clarke doesn’t move, staring up at Bellamy with determination, furtive strokes of her thumb brushing his chest, soothing him and the rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingers. “Once he’s better, we find out what he knows and then he’s out of here, okay?”

He swallows hard. “And what if he refuses to leave?” he asks softly. “What do we do with him then?”

He knows what _he_ wants to do, but he doesn’t trust himself or his decision making at the moment. But looking down at her, her cool eyes and controlled expression, he knows he can always trust _her_. She is his touchstone – his balance.

So he’s more than a little surprised – and very much turned on – when her tranquil gaze turns fierce, lips curling and nose flaring. “Then we kill him.”

He finds his breath coming a little easier after that, his rushing adrenaline slowing. He nods at her, and she offers a quick look of solidarity before stepping around him and out the dropship.

He blinks, feeling his body relax muscle by muscle, just the thought of her by his side acting like a balm to his weary mind. When he looks up, Finn is watching him, his stupidly perfect face full of confusion and what appears very much like disappointment.

xxxxxxxxx

She can hear Bellamy as he barks out orders. Instructing his militia on their new guard rotation and how important it was they do their jobs now.

“No more falling asleep while on lookout. No more playing around,” his voice echoes throughout camp. “The Grounders are coming, and we need to be prepared.”

She hopes he’s wrong, hopes that, that ominous feeling slinking in the back of her brain that’s telling her what happened with Murphy was too odd and too convenient, disappears when nothing ends up happening.

She wants nothing more than to go to him, comfort herself by trying to comfort him. Feel his strong arms around her that make her feel so safe and cared for – even if only for a few stolen moments. But she doesn’t want to distract him from what he’s doing. Taking control and _doing_ something is how he deals with it, his fear and anxiety, and she doesn’t want to take that away from him just to make herself feel better.

So she swallows down the restless angst building within her until she can make it inside the nearest tent. She’s startled to see she’s not alone, a secluded Raven sitting in front of the comms, trying in vain to reach what was left of their people.

Sweat seeps out along Clarke’s hairline and is starting to pool between her breasts. Shame heats up not only her face, but her entire body in a flash, making her feel as if she’s being cooked in her own guilt.

“Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here,” she apologizes hastily.

Raven’s expression is completely devoid of blame, her brows instead furrowing with concern. “You okay?”

Clarke nods as a wave of nausea sweeps through her, her limbs feeling suddenly weak and achy. She most certainly does not feel okay.

“Yeah,” she breathes. She needs to sit, needs to lie down and let… whatever this is pass, but she’s stopped by Raven’s sad voice.

“Still nothing from the Ark. It could be solar flares blocking the signal.” The mechanic’s quiet after that, staring sorrowfully at the radio.

“But you don’t think so.” She’s trying like hell to control the rush of everything within her. Between her trembling limbs that are just begging for her to fall, and the grief pulling at her heart so hard she can barely breath, she’s not sure how much longer she can stand here.

Eyes cast down in defeat, Raven shakes her head. “I got a bad feeling.”

Clarke can certainly sympathize. “There’s a lot of that going around.” With a final nod, she turns, determined to make it out of there before she embarrasses herself.

“Clarke, wait.”

She looks back sharply, cause really? But the remorseful, compassionate look on Raven’s face practically melts away her irritation.

The mechanic hesitates, blinking as her lips part. “I’m sorry about your mom.”

And damn, she’s been trying so hard to push it all away, too afraid of the immensity of it and how it will most certainly overwhelm her completely, leaving her unable to handle the wealth of problems they already had. And that was something they could not afford right now.

She swallows hard as she feels the tears begin to slide down her cheeks, and she’s so disappointed in herself for breaking.

“Oh my god, Clarke, your eyes,” Raven exclaims, shooting up from her seat.

She swipes at her tears, and sure enough there’s blood. Her heart stops, clutching tight in her chest while her mind files rapidly through her medical knowledge of symptoms and their causes.

She runs from the tent when she hears her name being called out, already fearing the worst.

Sometimes she hates it when she’s right.

Connor and Derek stumble toward her, both bleeding and sick, just as her.

And she knows. She already knows what’s happening.

She races to the dropship, her nausea rising higher at the sight of a vomiting Murphy. She crouches beside him despite her stomachs protesting turn. “Murphy, look at me. I need you to tell me exactly how you escaped from the Grounders. What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he groans out. “I woke up and they forgot to lock my cage. There was no one there so I took off.”

She freezes in shock, then her whole body sags when she understands. “They let you go.”

Bellamy marches in, tearing past the nylon. An overpowering fear for him overrides her senses.

“Bellamy, stay back,” she warns, voice stern, making him pause. And she hates having to force him away, because she’s terrified out of her mind and the one thing she needs more than anything else in this moment _is_ him.

But then he’s there, setting down his gun as he wraps a hand around her arm, resting the other on her back, and she almost wants to cry at both the relief and the horror she feels.

“No,” she protests weakly, voice breaking as she tries pushing him away, only to grip his arm instead.

“Hey.” He pushes back the hair that hangs limply in front of her face, eyes wide and full of worry when he takes in her pallid skin and bleeding eyes. His own flit to Murphy. “Did he do something to you?”

She shakes her head mournfully, because this is so much worse.

“What the hell is this?”

She looks up at him with regret. “Biological warfare. You were right. They don’t want peace. Murphy is their weapon.”

Connor and Derek’s coughing comes from the other side of the room, wet and ragged, tearing up from deep within their chests.

Bellamy’s glower burns, his body practically vibrating with hate as he looks to Murphy. “Is this your revenge?” he spits out. “Helping the Grounders kill us?”

“I didn’t know about this,” Murphy replies in a shaky voice, “I swear.”

“Stop lying,” he hollers, heaving forward.

Clarke lays a hand on his chest, easing him back. “Don’t touch him.”

His nose flares as he tries to hold himself back – keep himself in check. “When are they coming?”

Murphy doesn’t answer, and Clarke can practically feel Bellamy winding tighter and tighter beside her.

“Murphy, think, alright. What can you tell us that’s useful? Did you hear anything?”

He flashes a sickening smile that makes her stomach tremble. “They are vicious… cruel.”

“You want to see vicious?” Bellamy growls, pushing forward once again only to be stopped by Clarke a second time.

“Hey,” she snaps. “Don’t. Whatever this thing is, it spreads through contact.”

His expression nearly turns to full blown panic when he looks down quickly at the hand he has on her arm, and she drops her head with guilt, waiting for him to flinch away from her.

Everything is still – silent – until Bellamy’s rough sigh pierces the quiet, and he squeezes her arm with a gentle pressure that makes her peer up through her lashes.

“It’ll be okay,” he promises, so unsure and scared, but just the sound of his gravelly voice makes her feel the slightest bit better. She gives him a small smile, not a real one, more like a tiny quirk at the corner of her lips, and his hand slides down to her wrist, thumb caressing the soft skin on the back of her hand.

She twists it around, capturing the thick digit with her fingers. When their eyes meet she feels a pleasant flash through her body that makes her heart stutter.

Whatever happens, they’ll get through it together.

” _Clarke._ ” Finn jogs in, halting at the picture of Murphy, Clarke and Bellamy huddled together.

She leans forward, looking around Bellamy’s wide shoulders. “Finn, you shouldn’t be in here.” Her eyes trail down to Bellamy, giving his thumb another squeeze. “No one should.”

“I heard you were sick.”

She sees Bellamy roll his eyes, and he rubs her back with firm, calming circles, squeezing the base of her neck with affection before standing.

“What is this?” Finn asks.

To be honest, she’s not sure if he’s referring to Bellamy’s casual touch or the sickness. But she chooses to respond to the latter. Rocking back on her heels, she feels the pull of exhaustion down to her very bones, weighing down her body.

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “Some kind of hemorrhagic fever. We just need to contain it before-”

Derek’s cough becomes louder, harsher before he’s convulsing violently on the metal floor. She stands swiftly, rushing over until Finn tries to stop her.

“Hey, don’t touch me,” she snaps, jerking back into Bellamy’s solid grasp. She’s grateful for it, his hold steadying her as the room spins for a moment after her rapid withdraw. Finn looks her up and down, hurt expression etched across his face. “You could get sick,” she explains, quickly turning to Derek.

The boy’s whole body looks like it’s fighting itself as he coughs up too much blood, moaning and crying into the floor. Her healer’s instincts tell her to go to him, to ease the suffering he’s so obviously in, but… She’s so afraid – doesn’t want to touch him. Just watching him has her stomach falling and panic rising, making her wonder morbidly if this was how she was going to go, too – seizing on the dirty metal floor in her own blood.

When he stills, lying silently at their feet, she kneels, hesitantly reaching to feel his pulse.

“Is he-” Bellamy starts with a gruff whisper, unable to finish saying what they’re all wondering.

She turns back to him, stunned and shaking, so she’s surprised when her voice comes out even. “He’s dead.”

The quiet of the room only raises the horror of the moment, powerful and deafening as it crushes them under the weight of their terror.

She stands suddenly, grabbing the canister of moonshine. “Here, hold out your hands,” she orders Bellamy. “Alcohol.”

He watches her hard without lifting his hands.

She can feel his eyes despite being unable to meet them, staring at the zipper of his jacket as she tries not to think about what just happened.

“Clarke, it’s not gonna matter,” he mutters.

“Hold out your hands!” she shouts, shrill and overflowing with emotion. She finally looks up at him when he still doesn’t move. “Please,” she begs, quiet and pitiful.

Their eyes fight a war between them, clashing and struggling until, with a heavy sigh, he raises his hands in a reluctant surrender.

She pours the alcohol, the liquid running across his strong hands and splashing onto the floor. It’s not enough, she thinks, it’s not enough and she’s going to lose him.

“What do we do?” Finn asks from behind her.

And then her mind is suddenly moving a mile a minute, thinking of everything that needs to be done, and it feels so much better than the gripping panic that’s taken over her heart.

“Quarantine,” she answers with assertiveness. “Round up everyone who had contact with Murphy. Bring them here.”

Bellamy comes up beside her as Finn hurries from the dropship. She steps away, making sure his shoulder doesn’t touch hers.

He notices, and drops his head. “And everyone they had contact with?” he rasps out, defeated.

She turns to him then, trying not to drown in his angry, fearful eyes. “We have to start somewhere.”

Connor sits in the corner, head swaying on his shoulders as blood streams from his nose.

“Connor, who was with you when you found him? Who carried him in?”

He blinks listlessly.

“Think,” Clarke demands.

“The first one there was Octavia,” he answers, trembling and faint.

She can practically feel it when Bellamy stiffens behind her, and she’s barely turned around before he’s flying out the dropship.

“Bellamy,” she calls out. But he’s gone, and she knows he wouldn’t stop whether he heard her pleas or not.

xxxxxxxxx

She tries not to let her gaze flick to Bellamy, his rigid stance and desperately worried face driving her crazy.

“Okay, we’re done. No visible signs of swelling or bleeding,” she announces to both him and Octavia.

It’s not surprising to her that it’s in fact Bellamy who is the frantic, obsessive one when it comes to Octavia’s health instead of Octavia herself, shifting his weight from foot to foot, mindlessly fidgeting with the cloth he’d been holding to his face. His nervousness has consumed his entire body, and she definitely rethinks her plan for a quick moment.

“We need to keep her here just in case.”

But not for too long.

Bellamy freezes, eyes going wide, staring at her like she’s just told him that she’s taking away his guns.

“No way, look at this place. She’ll get sick just being here.”

She knew this was going to be harder than just that, and she’s well prepared.

“Do you want to stop the spread or not?”

He works his jaw, weighing the possible outcomes – weighing his responsibilities. The delinquents, or his sister? She already knows what he’s going to choose, so she sweetens the deal.

“Look, I’ll keep her on the third level with the people who aren’t symptomatic yet.”

Octavia turns to Bellamy, her normally argumentative nature falling away to a pleading look for her big brother to stand up for her – save her. Clarke knows that’s a hard one to fight, but she has something up her sleeve, something she knows he’ll never be able to resist.

“Think of it as a way to stop her from sneaking out again.”

And she sees the wheels turning in his head. His jaw finally clenching as he makes his decision.

“Screw you, Clarke.”

“I’ll let you know if her condition changes.”

He gives her a small, sad nod, refusing to meet his sister’s wounded expression of betrayal.

“And you?” he asks, with a strained voice. “You haven’t been coughing or throwing up?”

“No.” She hasn’t been, but she can feel herself getting worse – getting weaker. But she doesn’t tell him that. “No, I haven’t.”

He only nods again, blinking at the floor, as if he’s afraid to look at her. Another pair of delinquents stumble into the dropship, coughing and bleeding until they collapse against the wall and slide to the floor. Bellamy shuts his eyes with a huff before swiftly rushing out without another word.

She sags against the ladder, missing him already.

He’s scared. She knows it. He hates feeling useless, and she knows he’s afraid that they’ll be taken away by an enemy he can’t fight, and she’s sure that his frustration is climbing higher as she and Octavia sit inside this metal cesspool of disease.

Her heart clenches miserably, because he must be losing his mind out there.

The metal clang of the ladder reverberates through the room as Octavia climbs.

“Octavia, wait.”

She halts, shooting Clarke a resentful glare.

“I need you to sneak out again.”

xxxxxxxxx

His heart races as he stalks the camp, arms crossed with a brooding scowl across his face, trying like hell to ignore the towering mass of the dropship. Just looking at it makes his stomach turn.

Unfortunately, it’s the delinquents who get the brunt of his frustration and anxiety as he shouts insults while scolding even the smallest of infractions. They tiptoe around him, giving him a wide berth if they’re able to. He notices. And he _knows_ what he’s doing, but he can’t stop it – can’t help himself. Because he cannot stand the maddening impotence he feels – the helplessness.

Some of the teens seem to take on his agitation themselves, causing all sorts of scuffles and arguments across camp over the stupidest things. Stress is _high_ , and his is by far the highest.

“We got another one.”

Clarke ducks from around the parachute, following two boys as they carry out a third. The camp watches, silent and morose, the sickening fear increasing around the camp as another body is added to the morbid pile growing off to the side of the ramp.

“Alright, show’s over,” Bellamy announces in a stern voice. “Get back to your posts.”

The crowd disperses, but the unease is still prevalent – still palpable.

He can’t help but turn to her, unable to keep from going closer, so desperate for her and her calming presence. She steps back when he reaches the ramp, and he stops himself from taking that next step up.

She offers a look of regret, face haggard and weary. He understands, nodding his head miserably.

“You’re gonna be okay.”

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, like she’s trying to keep herself from pointing out the obvious fact that there is a very real possibility she won’t be. “Bellamy… just in case, you need to-”

“Don’t,” he growls, throat tight and painful. “Don’t even do it, because I can’t-” He releases a rough breath, ducking his head as he tries to take control of his emotions. It’s quiet between them, the moment swollen with grief, until he looks back up. “When this is over,” he starts again, firmly, “I’m gonna take you out of here. Anywhere you want to go.”

She huffs out a sudden laugh, eyes closing as she smiles wide with glee at his ridiculous vow. He can’t help but smile back at the sight of her so happy, even with the heaviness in his chest.

“A vacation?” she chokes out, with a heartrending grin.

“Yeah. I’ll uh… I’ll take you to that stream. The one you were talking about.”

She nods with eagerness at the memory.

“And you can… bathe, so I don’t have to listen to you complain about it anymore.”

She scoffs good-naturedly, licking her lips, only to taste the metallic tang of blood. She turns away as she wipes at the red rivulets on her cheeks.

His boot makes a thud on the metal ramp, and she looks back at him quickly. “ _Don’t_.”

He freezes, clenching his fists. The need to run to her practically vibrates within him.

The poignant yet playful smiles are gone, an inconsolable despair replacing them, reminding them of where they are, and just how hopeless this world really is. Heaven forbid they ever forget.

“Clarke,” he mutters wretchedly.

She shakes her head. “Don’t,” she says again, this time a soft whisper between them.

He moves to take a step back but he can’t do it, and instead turns to the left, away from the smell of corpses… away from Clarke. “O?” he asks, ragged and desolate. “Is she okay?”

Clarke doesn’t answer. Her silence is worrisome and makes his stomach tie in knots. Her face is scared, apprehensive. She’s afraid of his reaction, he realizes. And he’s suddenly never been so fucking terrified in his life.

“O,” he calls, no longer looking to Clarke as he begins marching up the ramp. “ _O_!”

“Bellamy, wait.” She holds out a hand to stop his advance, and he’s seriously considering pushing her out of the way while his heart nearly beats from his chest. “She’s not here,” she rushes out before he can enter the dropship. “I sent her to see Lincoln.”

His face shifts from a blank confusion to a scornful look. Her breath catches at the utter fury gleaming in his eyes. But even worse is the pain she sees there – the betrayal. And she wonders briefly for a moment if she’s lost him for good.

“Look, if there’s a cure, he has it,” she pleads for him to understand. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t let her go.”

He clenches his jaw, shaking his head minutely, unable to even comprehend what she’s done, the duplicity of her actions that have put his sister at risk. “If anything happens to her, you and me are gonna have problems.”

She feels her chin quiver as she tries to hold back the sinking feeling inside her. “Bellamy,” she begs, but he’s already whipping around, stomping down the ramp and past delinquents.

That’s when things begin to fall apart. First Tim, then Fox, then before they know it, there’s yelling and threatening and guns being raised and pointed as the simmering unease of camp finally begins to boil over into a full blown panic.

Bellamy tries to take control – he can’t let this become another Murphy – but his own anxiety doesn’t seem to be helping as he tries to calm the rioting crowd. He can hear Finn behind him as he attempts to do the same, and he’s actually grateful he’s not alone in what’s very quickly becoming a shit-storm.

Everyone practically jumps at once, startled into silence at the release of gunfire.

Bellamy’s heart stops for a split second, terrified of finding yet another dying teen. But the vision of Clarke standing tall and undaunted as she holds her rifle high, has him gaping at her in awe.

She saunters down the ramp, owning every step, looking from teen to teen. And he wants nothing more than to kiss her right here and now, contagious fever be damned. Then he remembers how unbelievably pissed he is at her… and is surprised by the fact that it doesn’t really change how he feels about her. He still cares for her, still wants her, still needs her and her guidance. And he’s still beyond afraid he might be losing her.

“This is exactly what the Grounders want,” she says, her words and appearance captivating the crowd – not to mention him. “They don’t have to kill us if we kill each other first.”

“They don’t have to kill us if we all catch the virus,” yells Mike as he marches up to her. Bellamy watches with worry, adrenaline still rushing through his veins as the kid raises his gun, his itchy trigger finger ready to squeeze at any moment. “Get back in the damn dropship!”

Before he can even finish with his ultimatum, Bellamy has the rifle in hand, efficiently smashing the butt of it into the kid’s face, making him stagger back. It’s cathartic in a way, releasing some of the pent up tension within him. But now he feels it as everything begins to slow – the fear, the adrenaline. He’s tired in a way he’s never been before – even after those first days of training as a cadet – as if everything has just been drained out of him and there’s nothing left.

“Not to state the obvious, but your quarantine isn’t working.”

He’s waiting for her response, for her to come up with some kind of idea that they can discuss and hopefully result in some sort of plan B – since plan A has very obviously gone up in smoke.

He furrows his brows when he notices her eyes, the light that usually shines through them, now muted and dim while she stares at him with a vacant look.

“Clarke?”

And he sees it when she all but disappears behind those blank eyes, her pale face growing even paler, and he knows what’s about to happen. But he’s too slow, his body working against him as he orders it to catch her – to _move_ before she hits the ground. But his lungs are already protesting and his stiff muscles refuse to do his bidding, and all he ends up doing his grasping her bicep in his hand before Finn gathers her in his arms.

He faintly hears Raven call out before his eyes lock with Finn’s.

“Let me go. I’m okay,” Clarke gasps breathlessly between them.

Finn shakes his head. “No you’re not-”

“You will be,” Bellamy states with confidence. Clarke rolls her head sluggishly, scared eyes seeking him out. “O will come back with a cure.”

“There is no cure.”

Bellamy twists around in shock at the sound of his sister’s voice behind him.

“But the Grounders don’t use the sickness to kill.”

That’s quite possibly the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. All these people have ever done is try to wipe him and these kids out, and the small pile of young bodies beside the dropship is evidence enough that that’s exactly what they’re trying to do doing with the virus.

“Really? Tell that to them,” he says in irritation as he points out the grisly sight to his sister. And that alone has his heart clenching, because Clarke his just behind him, limp and white as a sheet in Finn’s arms – already so close at death’s door. And of course there’s not a fucking cure, because why the hell would these bastards ever do anything to _help_ them.

As exhausted as he still is, he can feel it as their circumstances begin to once again fuel his anger.

“I warned you about seeing that grounder again.”

He doesn’t care what she says about her crush, doesn’t care how wrong he admits he was about the torture. These people are _dangerous_ – something she refuses to acknowledge. Now _he_ refuses to let anymore of his people die to spare her and Finn’s feelings. If they _are_ going to die, they’ll die fighting.

“Yeah? Well, I have a warning for you, too,” she mutters at him. “The Grounders are coming, and they’re attacking at first light.”

The news is a blow, but it’s also not completely surprising. This definitely proves it – their offered peace was nothing but a ruse, and a fight is definitely coming their way.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my favorite chapter, and that probably shows. Sorry if it's not a lot of fun, hopefully there'll better things to come in the next ones. Thank you for all your comments and kudos and bookmarks, you guys are the best. Apologies for any mistakes, and I hope you enjoy :)

Bellamy’s more than a little surprised by Finn’s suggestion to blow up the bridge. Or maybe he’s just more surprised by the fact that it’s _Finn_ suggesting it. He also hates to admit that it’s a good idea, so he’ll just agree that it’s the only one they have left and leave it at that.

His breathing is heavy, ragged – every inhale a painful struggle. The trip to the crashed Exodus ship had been grueling as he, Finn, and Raven moved as fast as they could to collect the hydrazine before nightfall, sprinting through the never ending labyrinth of trees, his rifle knocking against his back the whole way – he can already feel the bruise across his shoulder blades every time he moves. And though they’d made their way back at nearly a snail’s pace compared – all three of them ever mindful of the fragile cargo in Raven’s pack – he still hasn’t been able to catch his breath.

His eyes slide over to Finn who stands at his left, irritated to see that the kid appears to be doing just fine as he stares back at Bellamy with an undisguised look of suspicion and bitterness.

Bellamy stands up a little straighter, ignoring the aching throb in his muscles. “You got something you wanna say?” He tries for aggressive, but it falls flat with his breathlessness.

Finn presses his lips together, like he’s trying to keep his mouth shut – that’d definitely be a first, Bellamy thinks. “Clarke,” he blurts out, eyes blinking a quick rhythm before he finishes his thought. “She said we should leave – all the healthy ones. That we should go and save ourselves.”

Bellamy scoffs, because he can tell just by the look on Finn’s face that that’s not at all what he really wanted to say. Though it did, however, sound exactly like something Clarke would say.

“We’re not doing that,” Bellamy declares, firm and allowing no argument.

“That’s what I told her.”

A few beats of silence pass between them – a few hard breaths – as Bellamy watches him, feeling something akin to respect. Or maybe it’s more just a simple internal acknowledgement that Finn isn’t _all_ bad. “Good,” Bellamy says with a nod.

“Okay, you can come in now,” calls Raven from within the tent.

After ducking inside, Bellamy steps cautiously up to the jar of hydrazine, warily eyeing the pink fluid that could obliterate the entire camp-

“ _BOOM_!”

He jerks back, heart lurching and stomach dropping as his world disappears in a whirlwind of panic before he’s able to make out Raven’s amused snickering behind him. She has a wide smile plastered on her face, clearly pleased with herself.

“That’s cute,” he mutters in irritation.

But he still listens intently as she describes how to create the bomb, heeding her every instruction, all too aware of how all their lives depended on it and him. But even still, he has to force himself to remain focused, keep his mind steady while his head feels as if it’s swimming in molasses.

He knows he can do this – _has_ to do this ­­– but it’s unnerving to think how _everything_ rests on this one plan. After this, there’ll be no more gunpowder – no more guns except for what they already have – and any advantage they had will be gone. They’re putting all their eggs into one basket, and he feels an itch beneath his skin that tells him that it will be their undoing.

He tries to ignore it, tries to put his faith in his people. It also helps to remind himself that ultimately, they’re out of options.

Raven shifts beside him. She’s strong, brave, but not without fear, and he knows it because he can feel the same fear inside himself. “To be safe, you need to be at least 200 feet away to make the shot.”

It’s close enough. “Which one of you plants the bomb?”

An awkward silence fills the tent, increasing exponentially the longer it draws out. Bellamy stares hard at the fuel, biting his tongue. Their relationship isn’t his business, but that small bit of respect he was beginning to feel for Finn is very quickly evaporating with every second he stays quiet. This is spacewalker’s plan after all, and if he’s really expecting his girlfriend to—

“I will.”

Better late than never.

But now Bellamy is – _again_ – beyond irritated by the cowardly kid beside him, and he can’t help himself when he points out his hypocrisy.

Of course Finn still insists this doesn’t have to cost lives. “…peace through strength.”

“The men who built the A-bomb thought they were peacemakers, too,” Bellamy reminds him. “How’d that work out for them?”

He doesn’t get an answer though – not that he was really expecting one – but instead of Finn’s usual dejected look, his expression is one of shock as he gapes wide-eyed at Bellamy.

Bellamy glowers at the blood smeared on his own hand after wiping it from his nose, not all that surprised, but at the same time, if he’s honest with himself, he didn’t believe it would be him. He doesn’t think he’s immortal or anything, but they were already without Clarke. What would they do without him?

“Who else can take the shot?” Finn asks in a hushed tone.

He’s scared – terrified – remembering Derek on the floor of the dropship hacking up his own lungs. And it’s just not fucking fair – this whole situation. Just when he doesn’t think this world can get any worse – any harder.

“Appreciate the concern,” he mutters back, full of the bitterness that winds tight around his chest. “Make sure the bomb’s packed and ready to go in ten minutes.”

He’s suddenly more tired than ever, the ache in his bones and his screaming limbs demand he take his overbearing weight off them. He desperately wants to – to just lie down and let it overcome him – but he has one last job to do, one last responsibility before he leaves these kids on their own.

He keeps his head down, sticks to the shadows between the tents as he stumbles through the camp. He doesn’t have any delusions of grandeur, but he knows what it will do to them – what it will do to their already waning hope – if they see him like this. He can’t help them now, but he believes in them, and if they want to survive then they need to keep up their courage for the fight ahead, as well as the confidence within themselves and each other.

He finds Jasper in a small group, his tall, lanky form standing in front of a fire, and Bellamy closes his eyes with a resigned sigh. There’s no other choice – no one left that he even remotely trusts to do this. Remembering the, admittedly short, amount of time he’d trained Jasper, he knows the boy is a decent shot. A pretty good one, actually. He’s capable, and eager to prove himself. He can absolutely do this.

And there’s just… there’s no one left.

“Jasper, c’mere,” Bellamy rasps out, his head foggy as his brain begins to throb within it.

“Hi,” Jasper greets, timid and hesitant as he makes his way to Bellamy’s lurking figure. “You need me to go with you?” He comes up short then, halting in his steps once he’s close enough to see Bellamy’s pallid, sweating face.

“I need you to take the shot.”

Bellamy can see the fear in his eyes. The fear of death – fear of failure. But still he agrees, quiet and frightened. And if Bellamy wasn’t on the verge of passing out from a debilitating virus, he’d be smiling with pride, maybe pat him on shoulder with a thankful squeeze.

But he can’t do any of those things, because he suddenly feels so weak he’s not sure how he’s even still standing upright.

He reminds Jasper how important this job is, of what’s at stake if he doesn’t succeed.

Jasper nods meekly. “Why me? I mean, you got twenty shooters.”

Bellamy wishes he could tell him he was his first choice, but he doesn’t even have the strength to offer up a shrug much less a white lie. And Jasper must see it in his face, just how far up shit creek they really are.

“I’m the only one not sick, right?”

The guilt Bellamy feels certainly doesn’t help the nausea roiling in his stomach. “Right,” he admits with an apologetic look. “Don’t miss.”

He doesn’t even make it two steps before finally dropping, crashing into a tent, too exhausted to fight against it any longer.

When they drop him on the hard floor, he’s not even sure where he is at first – doesn’t care, because all that matters is the fire that’s roasting him alive, burning him up from the inside out. He hears his name from far away, suddenly unable to breathe as the nausea rises, and before he knows it he’s being rolled onto his side, blood pouring from his mouth and soaking into the dirty blanket beneath him. His heart is straining and everything hurts, his bones crumbling as they grind against each other, needles slicing as they rush through his veins.

His eyes find Clarke, blonde waves hanging limp as she lies still and quiet in the hammock. He can only mumble her name before he’s rolled onto his back once more, and he hates knowing that this is what she’s going through, this absolute hell. Octavia looks down at him, a steadfast, caring presence beside him as she wipes the blood and sweat from his face. She almost doesn’t look worried with her blue eyes gleaming in determination, and he’s so proud of her, of her strength of mind and tenacity. He’s happy she’s here – happy he has her. It’s selfish and he knows it. He’ll hate himself later if he’s still alive.

“I’m scared,” he cries softly up to her, because he can’t hold it back anymore – can’t protect anyone from his own fears as he lays here dying. He’s afraid. For himself, for Octavia, for Clarke, for all of them, and he no longer has the strength to be pretend otherwise.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” she says with a fierce certainty.

And he almost believes it.

xxxxxxxxx

Clarke tries to open her eyes with some difficulty, the dried blood and tears practically gluing them shut. She wipes away at the disgusting crust that’s formed there. She frowns, blinking away her blurry vision before taking a proper look at the space around her. It’s filled wall to wall with delinquents, their moans and coughs echoing off the metal walls.

“Finally awake, princess?”

She starts at the words, not even noticing Murphy as he came up beside her. He holds out a cup which she can only stare at dumbly, and when she still doesn’t move he gives it a shake, the liquid contents sloshing within.

“Gotta stay hydrated. That’s what you said.”

She reaches for it with a small look of thanks, bringing it to her cracked lips with a weak arm and trembling hand.

Her eyes travel the room as the warm water soothes her parched throat. Then she sees Octavia hovering over Bellamy. The pain in her chest, when her heart stops, is sharp, piercing jagged and fast enough for her breath to catch in her throat.

“I think he’s alright for now,” Murphy says when he notices. “Been sleeping for awhile.”

She sees his chest as it rises and falls in a slow, easy rhythm, and she mimics it, her hand on her own chest as she continues to watch his.

“Called out for you a couple times.” Murphy says it so casually, like it’s normal for Bellamy Blake to call out for her while delirious with fever, and she looks at Murphy, surprised to see a serious expression on his face. He isn’t mocking her, isn’t smirking cruelly at what is probably a bit of a revelation to him – a weakness he could no doubt exploit.

She nods before pushing up, groaning at the effort as she tries to keep her balance on the not so sturdy hammock. Murphy helps her, holding her upper arm as she drags a leg over the fabric, and she forces herself not to flinch away from his touch.

On wobbly legs, she takes careful, shaky steps to the Blake siblings, crossing the sea of teens between her and them. Octavia looks up, smiling softly beside Bellamy’s sleeping form as Clarke kneels on the opposite side.

“How is he?”

Octavia gives a helpless shrug. “I don’t know. He still has a fever, but he hasn’t thrown up since before he fell asleep.”

Clarke offers her a comforting smile of her own.

She’s so desperate for him, starving to touch him. A need so great it’s almost scary as it swells within her. So she gives in, laying the back of her hand on his forehead, frowning at the heated skin there burning hot against her own.

A soft sigh flows past her lips. Now that she’s touching him she doesn’t want to stop, like an addiction, she craves him, so eager to continue her caress, to feel the proof of him warm and alive under her hand. Her knuckles ghost over his glistening temple and down his wan, freckled cheek. The image of his beautifully tanned skin, so sickly pale, is an outrage, and she has to hold back her anger at the sight of Bellamy Blake, lying weak and lifeless, robbed of his vibrant passion and resiliency.

“He called out for you.”

Octavia’s broken voice stills Clarke in her movements, and she has to steel herself before finally meeting the younger girl’s eyes. They’re wide and hard, a stormy dark blue.

“Don’t hurt him,” she croaks.

Clarke’s unable to tell if it’s a demand or a plea, or maybe something in between, but she nods her head all the same. “You should get some sleep. You look exhausted.”

Octavia snorts. “Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?”

“It’s my way of telling you, I know you’ve been awake for hours caring for everyone, and I’m incredibly grateful.” She raises her brows. “Please go get some rest. I got it covered.”

With a final look at her brother, Octavia squeezes his hand before letting go, standing and leaving the dropship.

Clarke inhales deeply, feeling her strength as it slowly returns to her. She smooths her hand down Bellamy’s curls, watching with amusement as they spring back into place with every pass.

There’s murmuring from across the room as Murphy offers water to another delinquent, and Clarke watches with interest at the care with which he speaks to her – handles her as he helps her lie back down. And she knows Bellamy’s not at all going to be happy with her current train thought of allowing Murphy back into the camp. That of course is assuming they all live past tomorrow.

When Murphy turns their eyes catch, and she realizes she’s still mindlessly stroking Bellamy’s hair, her other hand holding onto his forearm – but she doesn’t stop in her caress, because she doesn’t care who knows anymore. They almost lost each other, and she doesn’t want to waste anymore time on worrying about what anyone thinks.

She gives Murphy a slight quirk of her lips before looking back down at Bellamy. No, he’s not going to be happy at all, and she honestly can’t wait.

xxxxxxxxx

She makes her rounds throughout the dropship, helping one boy through a coughing fit while talking a girl down from a near panic attack. They don’t lose anyone else though, and she’s pretty sure they’ve made it through the worst of the virus.

She turns her head quickly when she hears a scuffle, a loud voice carrying through the quiet ship. His voice.

“Bellamy, you’re sick, okay. I’m just trying to help.”

She makes her way over, trying to bite back the happy smile stretched across her face.

“When I get better, if you’re still here…”

“Hey,” Clarke interrupts, looking down at Murphy. “I got this one.”

She sits down beside him after Murphy leaves, passing him the water, her hand on his back. He’s solid and whole beneath her touch. She wants to hold him, hug him, bury her face in his neck and breathe him in – even if he does smell horrible. He’s alive and awake, and watching her with those solemn brown eyes that make her simultaneously melt and shiver all at once.

“I didn’t see you when I woke up. I thought…” He clears his throat, ducking his head to look inside his cup.

“I’m fine,” she soothes as she rubs his back. She’s given up trying to hide her smile, and she knows she must look like a crazy person grinning while surrounded by so much death and sickness.

“That’s good,” he mutters, low and reserved.

She notices it, and she’s not sure where his cool detachment is coming from. She’s bursting with joy despite their current predicament and he’s… acting as if they barely know one another.

She wonders for a moment if he’s still angry with her about the Octavia thing. Worry begins overshadowing her blissful mood until she reminds herself that it doesn’t matter, because she’s alive and he’s alive, and she’ll do whatever she has to, to earn back his trust.

“Are you okay?” she asks gently, taking a chance and sliding her hand up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, swirling her fingers through the black locks. He swallows hard, eyes meeting hers, undecipherable and guarded. “What’s wrong?”

He blinks at her, silent and deep as he wets his lips. “I wanna kiss you. But I…”

Her eyes go wide, because dear fucking lord does she desperately want the same thing. She never would’ve guessed his sudden distance was because he was feeling _shy_ of all things. It’s both too adorable and unbelievably arousing. And she’s not even listening to whatever the hell he’s saying anymore because she’s practically shoving her face into his, fingers gripping his hair and jacket as she takes his bottom lip between her own, her whole body feeling light and relaxed.

She leans her forehead against his after breaking away, their hot breaths mingling between them. He huffs out a laugh and she smiles back.

“That was kind of disgusting,” he breathes playfully, and she scoffs, shoving at his shoulder making him chuckle. He catches her lips again in a hard, chaste kiss. It’s just a quick press of lips but it leaves her grinning like an idiot, only this time she’s not alone seeing the same, stupid smile on his face as well.

His eyes begin roaming the dropship, only stopping to glare at Murphy before continuing on. “Have you seen Octavia?”

“She was up all night helping people. Murphy and I gave her a break.”

A cynical look passes over his features. “Don’t tell me you trust him now.”

“Trust? No. I do believe in second chances though.”

“Are you trying to tell me something… _princess_?” he asks with a smirk.

She rolls her eyes at the nickname. “Yeah. Maybe assholes can change? Not that I’ve seen it happen before.”

He shakes his head with a lopsided grin before becoming suddenly serious. “I missed you.”

Her free hand runs down the breast of his jacket, her eyes following the movement. “It’s only been a few hours.”

“I know,” he mumbles with what sounds like fear, making her peer up through her lashes curiously. He stares at her with an intensity that he never has before and it makes her stomach flip, she’s not even sure why. But he seems to catch on to her discomfort, ripping away his gaze.

She doesn’t know what to say – doesn’t know what to do. So she does nothing, brows knitting together in confusion.

“It’s almost dawn,” he says in an obvious attempt to change the subject. She lets him. “Better get everyone inside. If we lock the doors, maybe the Grounders will think we’re not home.”

“Not everyone is sick.”

“Sick is better than dead.”

He’s right. But they still have Finn and Jasper out there trying to give them all a fighting chance and…

“You don’t think Finn and Jasper are gonna pull it off.”

He gives her a questioning look. “Do you?”

It’s almost sad how quickly her mind says, no. It’s not that she doesn’t trust them to do this, it’s just… They’re just…

“I’ll get everyone inside,” she sighs.

xxxxxxxxx

She tries to keep her mind busy, concentrate on the still sick kids stuck inside the dropship, doing her best to ease any discomfort and pain that they’re in, reminding them that it’ll soon pass.

Bellamy kneels beside her, watching her as she sets a wet rag across a girl’s forehead. “They’ll be back.”

She only nods, offering up a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It’d already been hours and still nothing. Her hope was dwindling fast.

“You still care about him.” His voice is low – timid.

She’s taken off guard by the statement, brows furrowed as she meets his eyes. She doesn’t want to hurt him, but she doesn’t want to lie. She’s not in love with Finn, but he still holds a piece of her heart. She wish he didn’t, wish she’d been more careful with whom she shared it with, but…

“Bellamy… it’s not like you think.”

He presses his lips together, tilting his head. “But it kind of is.” He doesn’t sound angry, doesn’t sound jealous. Just tired.

“I care about _you_ ,” she emphasizes, because it’s the one thing she knows to be true on this shitty planet.

He nods his head, eyeing her sadly. “I know.” He stands then, leaving her. She wants to follow him, but she doesn’t know what to say.

When they finally return the relief is overwhelming. She watches proudly as Monty and Jasper stride into camp side by side, wide smiles on their faces as the crowd cheers for them. They’re followed by Finn as he holds up a barely standing Raven.

She’s happy they’re home, but Finn’s presence only reminds her of Bellamy and the distance he seems to be placing between them. A distance she has no idea how to cross.

xxxxxxxxx

She decides to stay in her own tent that night. She’s not entirely certain Bellamy wants her in his. She doesn’t get much sleep, her head filled with worries on top of worries, and at the forefront of it all is Bellamy’s eyes as he questioned her, brown and full and forlorn. She tries to keep hope, remind herself that after everything, they were both still alive. But she couldn’t help the ominous feeling that was clouding inside her, only growing by the minute, and only time would tell if it was right.


End file.
